BETTINAvoNHUTTEN 


Mary   J.    L.    Me  Donald 


THE  HALO 


BRIG1T 


The 

HALO 

BY 

BETTINA  VON  HUTTEN 

Author    of    "P  AM]'    "PAM 

DECIDES:'  ETC.    :    .-    .• 


WITH     FRONTISPIECE 


By    B.     MARTIN    JUSTICE 


NEW  YORK,  DODD,  MEAD 


AND   COMPANY,   MCMVII 


COPYRIGHT,   1907 
-  .   ,By  BKTTIN^  tow  HI/TTEN 

Published  October,  1907 


TO   THE    MEMORY    OF 

A   DEAR   LOST  FRIEND 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 

BETTINA  VON  HUTTEN 


THUN,  SWITZERLAND,  September  J,  1907 


98O51.6 


PROLOGUE"*';        ,,! 

A  STRAIGHT  stretch  of  "dusty" korman  r6ad 
dappled  with  grotesque  shadows  of  the  ancient 
apple-trees  that,  bent  as  if  in  patient  endurance  of 
the  weight  of  their  thick-set  scarlet  fruit,  edged  it  on 
both  sides. 

Under  one  of  the  trees,  his  back  against  its  gnarled 
trunk,  sat  an  old  man  playing  a  cracked  fiddle. 

He  played  horribly,  wrenching  discords  from  the 
poor  instrument,  grinning  with  a  kind  of  vacant 
malice  as  it  shrieked  aloud  in  agony,  and  rolling  in 
their  scarred  sockets  his  long-blind  eyes. 

Beside  him,  his  tongue  hanging  out,  his  head  bent, 
sat  a  yellow  dog  with  a  lead  to  his  collar.  Far  and 
wide  there  was  to  be  seen  no  other  living  thing,  and 
in  the  apple-scented  heat  the  screeching  of  the  violin 
was  like  the  resentful  cries  of  some  invisible  creature 
being  tortured. 

"  Papillon,  mon  ami"  said  the  old  man,  ceasing 
playing  for  a  moment,  "we  are  wasting  time;  the 
shadows  are  coming.  See  the  baby  shadow  apple- 
trees  creeping  across  the  road." 

The  yellow  dog  cocked  an  ear  and  said  nothing. 

"  Time  should  never  be  lost,  petit  chien  jaune — 
never  be  lost." 

Then  with  a  shrill  laugh  he  ground  his  bow  deep 
into  the  roughened  strings,  and  the  painful  music 
began  again. 


2  THE     HALO 

The  yellow  dog  closed  his  eyes.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  far  dcF/.-i  the  road  appeared  a  low  cloud 
of  white  dust,  advancing  rapidly,  and  until  it  was 
nearly  nbrs?.3t  of  ,•  tfye  ';fiddler,  noiselessly,  and  then, 
with  the  cessation  of  a  quick  padding  sound  of  bare 
feet,  appeared  a  small,  black-smocked  boy,  his  sabots 
under  his  arm,  his  face  white  with  anger. 

"Stop  it!  "  he  cried,  "stop  it!" 

The  old  man  turned.  "  Stop  what,  little  seign 
eur,"  he  asked  with  surly  amusement.  "  Does  the 
high  road  belong  to  you?" 

"  You  must  stop  it,  I  say,  I  cannot  bear  it." 

The  fiddler  rose  and  danced  about  scraping  more 
hideously  than  before.  "Ho,  ho,"  he  laughed, 
"  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho !  " 

The  child  threw  his  arms  over  his  head  in  a  ges 
ture  of  unconscious  melodrama.  "  I  cannot  bear  it — 
you  are  hurting  it — I — I  will  kill  you  if  you  do  not 
stop."  And  he  flew  at  his  enemy,  using  his  close- 
cropped  bullet-head  as  a  battering  ram. 

For  some  seconds  the  absurd  battle  continued,  and 
then,  as  unexpectedly  as  he  had  begun  it,  the  boy 
gave  it  up,  and  as  the  fiddler  laughed  harshly,  and 
the  fiddle  screeched,  threw  himself  on  the  warm, 
dusty  grass  and  cried  aloud. 

There  was  a  pause,  after  which,  in  silence,  the  old 
man  groped  his  way  to  the  boy  and  knelt  by  him. 
"  Hush,  mon  petit''  he  beseeched,  "  old  Luc-Ange 
is  a  monster  to  tease  you.  Do  not  cry,  do  not  cry." 

A  curious  apple,  leaning  over  to  listen,  fell  from 
its  bough  and  dropped  with  a  thud  into  the  grass. 


THE     HALO  3 

The  little  Norman  sat  up.  "  I  am  not  crying,"  he 
declared,  turning  a  brown,  pugnac<o^s  face  towards 
his  late  foe,  "see,  there  are  no, tears." 

The  man  touched  his  cheeks  and  eyelids  delicately 
with  his  dirty  fingers.  u  True — no  tears.  But — why, 
why  did  you " 

"  I  was  screaming  because  that  noise  was  so 
horrible." 

"  And — that  noise  gave  you  pain?  " 

Bullet-Head  frowned.  Like  all  Normans,  he  re 
sented  his  mental  privacy  being  intruded  on  by 
questions. 

"  Not  pain;  it  gives  me  a  horrible,  hollow  feeling 
in  my  inside,"  he  admitted  grudgingly,  "  just  under 
the  belt." 

After  a  moment  he  added,  his  dark  eyes  fixed 
angrily  on  the  violin,  "  I  hate  violins;  they  are  dread 
ful  things.  M.  Chalumeau  had  one.  I  broke  it." 

The  blind  man  laughed  gratingly.  "  Because  it 
made  such  a  horrible  noise?  " 

"Yes." 

'Another  pause,  and  then  the  man's  expression 
of  vacant  malice  turned  to  one  pitiful  to  see,  one  of 
indistinct  yearning.  "  Give  it  to  me,"  he  muttered, 
"  they  say  I  am  half  mad,  and  perhaps  I  am,  but — I 

think    I    could   play    once "      The    yellow    dog 

snapped  at  a  fly,  and  his  master  turned  towards 
him,  adding,  "  Before  your  time,  Papillon,  long 
before." 

The  bow  touched  the  strings  once  or  twice  gently 
and  ineffectively,  and  then,  his  lips  twitching,  his 


4  THE     HALO 

eyelids  as  much  closed  as  the  scars  on  their  lids 
allowed  tfremf  t*Q-:biev'rie  began  to  play. 

It  was.tlie  blayi'n'g^pf  one  who  had  forgotten  nearly 
everything  "<?f  ,his/.arf n'but  it  was  sweet  and  true  and 
strangely  touching.  To  the  boy  it  was  a  miracle. 
He  listened  with  the  muscles  of  his  face  drawn  tight 
in  an  effort  at  self-control  unusual  in  such  a  child,  his 
square,  brown  hands  digging  convulsively  into  the  dry 
earth  under  the  grass  beside  him.  And  as  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  crept  over  the  road,  and  the  oppressive 
heat  began  to  relent  a  little,  the  plaintive  music  went 
on  and  on,  and  scant,  painful  tears  stood  on  the 
player's  face. 

At  last  he  stopped,  and  frowning  in  a  puzzled  way, 
said  hoarsely,  "  What  is  the  matter,  Papillon,  where 
have  we  got  to?  " 

The  dog's  tail  stirred  in  answer,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  other  listener  burst  into  loud,  emotional 
sobs,  and  the  old  man  remembered.  "  That's  it, 
that's  it.  It's  the  boy  who  made  me  remember — '  Te 
rappelles  tu,  te  rappeles — tuy  ma  Toinon?'  Why  do 
you  cry,  little  boy?  Why  do  you  cry?  " 

The  boy  dried  his  eyes  on  his  smock  sleeve. 

"  It — I  am  ten,  too  big  to  cry,"  he  returned,  with 
the  evasion  born  in  him  of  his  race,  adding  with  the 
frankness  peculiar  to  his  own  personality,  "  but  I  did 
cry.  It  was  beautiful." 

The  old  man  rose,  and  took  up  the  dog's  lead. 

"  Beautiful.  Yes.  There  was  a  time "  He 

paused  for  a  second.  "  What  is  your  name,  little 
one?" 


THE     HALO  5 

"  Victor-Marie  Joyselle." 

"Eh  b'en,  Victor-Marie  Joyselle,  listen  to  me. 

When  you  have  learned  to  play  the  violin "  but 

Bullet-Head  interrupted  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  mean  to  learn  to  play 
the  violin?"  he  queried,  drooping  the  outer  corners 
of  his  eyelids  in  quick  suspicion,  "  I  did  not  say  so." 

"  I  know.  And  when  you  have  learned,  remember 
me.  And  never  let  anything — come  here  that  I  may 
put  my  hand  on  your  head  that  you  do  not  forget — 
never  let  anything — duty,  pleasure,  money,  or — or  a 
woman — come  between  you  and  your  music." 

The  boy  stared  seriously  into  the  strange  face  bent 
over  him,  the  face  from  which  so  much  that  was  bad 
seemed  for  the  moment  to  have  been  swept  away  by 
the  luminousness  of  the  idea  that  had  come  to  the 
half-idiotic  brain. 

"  '  Duty,  pleasure,  money  or '  " 

"  Or  a  woman"  cried  the  fiddler,  his  face  contort 
ing  with  anger.  "  God  curse  them  all  1"  Muttering 
and  frowning  he  jerked  at  his  dog.  "  Come,  Papillon, 
come;  we  must  be  getting  on,  it  is  late.  Petit  chien 
jaune,  petit  Men  jaune." 

The  dog  trotting  discreetly  at  the  end  of  the  taut 
lead,  the  old  man  slouched  up  the  road,  brandishing 
his  violin  aimlessly  and  talking  aloud  as  he  went. 

"  I  ask  myself,"  said  the  little  Norman,  "  how  he 
knew." 

Then,  for  he  was  no  longer  in  haste,  he  stepped 
into  his  green  sabots  and  started  homeward,  biting 
into  the  apple  that  had  listened. 


PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  ONE 

THE  Earl  of  Kingsmead  lay  flat  on  his  stomach 
on  the  warm,  short  grass  by  the  carp-pond,  and 
studied  therein  the  ponderous  manoeuvres  of  an 
ancient  fish,  believed  by  the  people  thereabouts  to 
be  something  over  two  hundred  years  old.  Carp 
had  a  great  charm  for  Lord  Kingsmead;  so  had 
electricity;  so  had  toads;  so  had  buns,  and  stable- 
boys,  and  pianolas,  and  armour,  and  curates,  and 
chocolates. 

Everything  was  full  of  interest  to  this  interesting 
nobleman,  and  the  most  beautiful  part  of  it  was  that 
there  was  beyond  Kingsmead  and  the  very  restricted 
area  of  London  that  he  had  hitherto  been  allowed 
to  investigate,  a  whole  world  full  of  things  strange, 
undreamed-of,  delightful,  and,  best  of  all,  danger 
ous,  to  the  study  of  which  he  meant  to  dedicate 
every  second  of  the  time  that  spread  between  that 
moment  as  he  lay  on  the  grass  and  the  horrid  hour 
when  he  should  be  carried  to  the  family  vault  sur 
rounded  by  sobbing  relations. 

For  Tommy  Kingsmead  was  one  of  those  most 
unusual  persons  who  understand  the  value  of  life  as 
it  dribbles  through  their  fingers  in  seconds,  instead 
of,  like  most  people,  losing  the  vibrant  present  in 
a  useless  (because  invariably  miscalculated)  study 
of  the  future. 


THE     HALO  7 

This  morning  he  had  devoted  to  a  keen  investi 
gation  of  several  matters  of  palpitating  interest. 

Had  Fledge,  the  butler,  who  had  apparently  been 
at  Kingsmead  since  the  beginning  of  the  world,  any 
teeth,  or  did  his  flexible,  long  lips  hide  only  gums? 
Until  that  day  the  problem  had  never  suggested  it 
self  to  Pledge's  master,  but  when  it  did,  it  roused 
in  him  a  passion  of  curiosity  that  had  to  be  satisfied, 
after  the  failure  of  a  series  of  diplomatic  attempts 
by  the  putting  of  a  plain  question. 

"  I  say,  Fledge." 

"My  lord?" 

" — You  never  do  really  open  your  mouth,  you 
know — except,  I  suppose,  when  you  eat " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  You  just,  well — fumble  with  your  lips.  So — I 
say,  Fledge,  have  you  any  teeth?" 

And  Fledge,  possibly  because  he  was  a  man  of 
principle,  but  probably  also  because  he  suspected 
that  his  master's  next  words  might  take  the  form  of 
an  order  to  open  his  mouth,  told  the  truth.  He  had 
three  teeth  only. 

"  And  look  here,  Fledge,  why  do  William's  toes 
turn  out  at  such  a  fearful  angle?" 

Pledge's  heart  was  in  the  plate-closet  at  that 
moment,  but  his  patience  was  monumental. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  lord — unless  it's  because  Vs 
only  just  left  off  being  knife-boy — they  get  used  to 
standing  at  the  sink  a-washing  up,  my  lord,  and 
William's  feet  is  large,  so  I  dessay  he  turned  'is  toes 
out  in  order  to  get  near  and  not  splash." 


8  THE     HALO 

This  elucidation  appeared  plausible  as  well  as  in 
teresting  to  Kingsmead,  and  he  felt  that  in  learning 
something  of  the  habits  of  the  genus  knife-boy  he 
had  added  to  his  stock  of  human  information,  which 
he  undoubtedly  had. 

Then  at  lunch  there  had  been  the  little  matter  of 
Bicky's  dressmaker's  bill.  The  mater  had  been  her 
crossest,  and  Bickey  her  silentest,  and  the  bill,  dis 
cussed  in  French,  a  disgusting  and  superfluous  lan 
guage,  the  acquirement  of  which  Kingsmead  had 
used  much  skill  in  evading,  lay  on  the  table.  It 
lay  there,  forgotten,  after  the  two  ladies  had  left  the 
room,  but  Kingsmead  was  a  gentleman.  So,  later 
he  had  sought  out  his  sister  and  coaxed  her  into 
telling  him  the  hair-raising  sum  to  which  amounted 
the  "  two  or  three  frocks  "  she  had  had  that  summer. 

He  had  also  learned  that  Mr.  Yelverton,  the 
Carrons,  the  Newlyns,  and  Theo  Joyselle  were  com 
ing  that  afternoon,  and  what  the  real  reason  was 
that  had  made  the  Frenshaws  wire  they  could  not 
come.  It  had  not  at  all  surprised  him  to  hear  that 
the  reason  given  in  the  wire  was  utterly  false,  for, 
like  other  people,  Kingsmead  was  bound  by  his 
horizon. 

On  the  whole,  his  day  had  been  a  busy  one,  and 
the  valuable  acquisitions  of  knowledge  that  I  have 
mentioned,  together  with  a  few  scraps  of  informa 
tion  on  stable  and  garage  matters,  had  brought  him 
quite  comfortably  up  to  four  o'clock,  when,  as  he 
idled  across  the  lawn,  that  rum  old  carp  had  caught, 
and  held,  his  eye. 


THE     HALO  9 

It  was  a  very  warm  day  in  October,  a  day  most 
unusual  in  its  mellow  beauty;  soft  sunshine  lay  on 
the  lawn  and  lent  splendour  to  the  not  very  large 
Tudor  house  off  to  the  left. 

The  air  of  gentle,  self-satisfied  decrepitude  worn 
by  the  old  place  was  for  the  moment  lost,  and  it 
looked  new,  clean-cut  and  almost  gaudy,  as  it  must 
have  done  in  the  distant  days  when  it  was  young.  It 
was  a  becoming  day  for  the  ancient  building,  as 
candle-light  is  becoming  to  an  old  beauty  and  brings 
back  a  fleeting  and  pathetic  air  of  youth  to  her  still 
lovely  features. 

Above,  the  sky  was  very  blue,  and  the  ruminating 
silence  was  broken  only  by  the  honk-honk  of  a  dis 
tant  motor.  The  carp,  impeded  in  his  lethargic  pro 
gress  by  the  thick  stem  of  a  water-lily,  had  stood  still 
(if  a  fish  can  be  said  to  stand)  for  a  century — nearly 
five  minutes- — his  silly  old  nose  pointing  stubbornly 
at  the  obstacle. 

"It  won't  move,  so  you'll  have  to,"  observed 
Kingsmead,  wriggling  a  little  nearer,  "  Oh,  I  say, 
do  buck  up,  or  you'll  never  get  there " 

And  the  carp,  quite  as  if  he  understood,  did  buck 
up,  and  slid  away  into  the  shadow  of  the  rhododen 
drons. 

Kingsmead  rose  slowly  and  picked  up  his  cap. 
What  should  he  do  next?  The  puppies  weren't  bad, 
nor  the  new  under-gardener  who  swore  so  awfully 
at  his  inferior,  nor 

"  Hello,  Tommy." 

"  Hello,  Bicky." 


io  THE     HALO 

Brigit  Mead  wore  a  short  blue  skirt,  brown  shoes, 
a  pink  wash-silk  blouse  made  like  a  man's  shirt,  and 
a  green  felt  hat  that  obviously  belonged  to  someone 
else.  She  was  dressed  like  thousands  of  English  girls, 
and  she  looked  as  though  the  blood  in  her  might  be 
any  in  the  world  but  English.  Hers  was  an  enig 
matic,  narrow,  high-bred  face,  crowned  by  masses 
of  dry  black  hair,  and  distinguished  from  any  other 
face  most  people  had  ever  seen  by  the  curved  line 
of  her  little  nose  and  the  colourless  darkness  of  her 
very  long,  half-closed,  heavily  lashed  eyes.  She  looked 
sulky,  disagreeable,  and  secretive,  but  she  was 
strangely  and  undeniably  beautiful.  Her  long,  thin- 
lipped  mouth  was  too  close  shut,  but  it  was  of  an  ex 
quisite  satin  texture,  scarlet  in  colour,  and  when  she 
said  "  Hello,  Tommy,"  it  melted  into  the  most  en 
chanting  and  indescribable  curves,  showing  just  a 
glimpse  of  pointed  white  teeth. 

Kingsmead  studied  her  gravely  for  a  moment. 

"Been  crying?" 

"  Yes." 

"That  bill?" 

"  Yes,  that  bill,  you  horrid  little  boy.  There's  a 
long  worm  in  your  hair." 

Kingsmead  removed  the  worm. 

"  Mater  been  nasty?" 

"  Beastly." 

"  H'm.     I  say,  Bick,  I  saw  Ponty  yesterday." 

Brigit,  who  had  turned  and  was  gazing  across  the 
lawn,  looked  at  him  without  moving  her  head,  a 
trick  which  is  not  at  all  English. 


THE     HALO  ii 

"Did  you,  now?" 

"  I  did.  He  is  dining  here,  he  says.  He  is  also 
sending  you  some  flowers.  I  told  him,"  added  the 
boy  dreamily,  u  that  we  had  lots  ourselves." 

After  a  moment,  as  she  did  not  speak,  he  went 
on,  "  Poor  old  thing,  why  did  you  poggle  him  so 
awfully,  Bicky?  You  really  are  a  horrid  girl,  you 
know." 

"  I  didn't  poggle  him." 

She  did  not  turn,  she  did  not  smile,  and  the  som- 
breness  that  was  the  dominant  expression  of  her 
face  was  strange  to  see  in  a  girl  of  her  age. 

"  Well "  Kingsmead's  small  countenance,  so 

different  from  hers  in  its  look  of  palpitating  interest 
and  curiosity,  suddenly  flushed  a  deep  and  a  beauti 
ful  red.  "  I  say,  old  girl,"  he  broke  out,  "  are  you 
going  to?" 

And  she,  silent  and  unresponsive  as  she  was, 
could  not  avoid  answering  him. 

"  Well,  Tommy  dear — I  don't  know,  but  I  sup 
pose  I  shall." 

"  I  don't  like  him,  poor  thing,  and  I  wish  you — 
mustn't." 

"  That's  exactly  the  word.  I  fear  I  must."  Her 
eyes  nearly  closed  as  she  refused  to  frown.  "  This 
kind  of  thing  can't  go  on  for  ever." 

"  You  mean  the  mater.  Well,  look  here,  Bicky, 
she'll  be  better  when  Carron  is  here — she  always  is." 

"Oh,  Tommy " 

"  But  she  is.     She  obeys  him  rather,  don't  you 


12  THE     HALO 

think?  I  suppose  because  he  was  a  friend  of 
father's.  Is  she  really  very  bad  to-day?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  ask  him  to  tell  her  to 
chuck  it?  I  say,  dear  old  thing,  I  wish  I  were  nine 
years  older!" 

"  If  you  were,  I  should  be  thirty-four!  " 

"  I  meant  about  the  beastly  money." 

She  laughed.  "  Funny  little  kiddie !  You  aren't 
going  to  have  any  money  either.  If  we  lived  within 
our  means  we'd  be  enjoying  life  in  a  villa  in  some 
Ihorrible  suburb.  We  are  hideously  poor,  Kings- 
mead." 

She  so  rarely  called  him  by  his  name  that  the  boy 
felt  alarmed.  Pontefract,  with  his  red  neck  and  his 
short  legs,  seemed  suddenly  very  near. 

"Isn't  there  anyone  else?"  he  blurted  out,  as 
she  led  the  way  towards  the  house.  "  I  mean,  any 
other  chap  with  money?" 

"  No  one  with  as  much.  And  then,  he  isn't  so 
very  bad,  Tommy.  He's  good-natured.  Think  of 
Clandon,  or — Negroponte !  "  Her  shudder  was 
perfectly  genuine. 

"  But  Pontefract  is  so  thundering  old!  " 

She  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  minute  he  went 
on:  "  What  about  Theo  Joyselle?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  he  is  three  years  younger  than  I, 
even  counting  in  bare  years !  And  in  reality  I  am 
twenty  years  too  old  for  him.  Silly  little  boy,  don't 
bother  about  me."  And  her  face,  as  she  smiled 


THE     HALO  13 

down  at  her  brother,  was  very  pleasant  as  well  as 
very  beautiful. 

"  But  he  has  money " 

She  nodded. 

"  And " 

"  How  did  you  know  that,  imp?  " 

"  Having  eyes  to  see,  I  saw.  And  I'd  like  to  be 
an  In-law  to  Victor  Joyselle.  I'd  make  him  play  to 
me  all  day.  I  say,  I  suppose  she  wouldn't  let  us 
run  up  to  hear  him  to-morrow?  " 

"  Not  she." 

He  sighed,  and  it  was  a  grown-up  sigh  issuing 
from  a  child's  throat,  for  he  loved  music  and  had 
read  the  programme. 

"How  glorious  the  last  one  was!  Upon  my 
word,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  marry  Theo  just  to  be  that 
man's  daughter-in-law." 

Again  she  laughed  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  head. 

"  Good  old  Thomas.  He's  a  Norman  peasant, 
remember — probably  eats  with  his  knife.  Oh,  here's 
a  motor — and  it  is  Theo  himself." 

"  Yes,  speak  of  an  angel  and  you  hear  his  horn." 

"Shall  I  tell  him  of  your  plan?"  she  teased  as 
the  motor  slowed  up. 

But  Tommy  had  disappeared,  and  in  his  place, 
small,  freckled,  and  untidy,  it  is  true,  but  a  gentle 
manly  host  welcoming  his  mother's  guest,  stood 
Lord  Kingsmead. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

LADY  KINGSMEAD  was  one  of  those  piteous 

beings,  a  middle-aged  young  woman.  She  was 
forty-six,  but  across  a  considerably-lighted  room 
looked  thirty-six.  The  shock,  when  one  approached 
her,  was  so  much  the  greater.  Her  plentiful,  grey- 
streaked  hair  dwelt  in  disgrace  behind  a  glossy 
transformation,  and  her  face  had,  from  constant 
massage  and  make-up,  a  curious  air  of  not  belonging 
to  her  any  more  than  did  the  wavy  hair  above  it. 

The  lines  that  the  mercifully  deliberate  on-coming 
of  age  draws  on  all  of  us  were,  it  is  true,  nearly 
obliterated,  but  in  their  place  was  a  certain  blank- 
ness  that  was  very  unbeautiful  indeed. 

However,  she  liked  herself  as  she  made  herself, 
and  most  people  thought  her  wonderfully  young- 
looking. 

The  question  of  age,  real  and  apparent,  is  a 
curious  one  that  gives  furiously  to  think,  as  the 
French  say.  No  one  on  earth  could  consider  it  an 
advantage  for  a  child  of  twelve  to  wear  the  facial 
aspect  of  a  baby  of  two,  nor  for  a  girl  of  twenty  to 
look  like  a  child  of  ten,  but  later  on  this  equation 
apparently  fails  to  hold  good,  and  Lady  Kingsmead 
in  appearing  (at  a  little  distance)  nearly  ten  years 
her  own  junior,  was  as  vastly  pleased  with  herself 


THE     HALO  15 

as,  considering  the  time  and  the  care  she  devoted  to 
the  subject,  she  deserved  to  be. 

As  she  came  downstairs  the  evening  of  the  day  of 
her  daughter's  unusually  confidential  conversation 
with  her  son,  Brigit  joined  her. 

"  Ugh,  mother,  you  have  too  much  scent,"  ob 
served  the  girl,  curling  her  upper  lip  rather  un 
pleasantly.  "  It's  horrid." 

"  Never  mind,  ducky,  I've  only  just  put  it  on;  It 
will  go  off  after  a  bit.  It's  the  very  newest  thing  in 
Paris.  Gerald  brought  it  to  me — Souvenir  de 
Jeunesse." 

Brigit  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  but  said 
nothing. 

Lady  Kingsmead's  unconsciousness  was,  as  it 
always  was  when  she  was  in  a  good  humour,  both 
amusing  and  disarming.  So  the  two  women  de 
scended  the  dark,  panelled  staircase  in  silence, 
crossed  the  hall  and  went  into  the  drawing-room. 
A  man  sat  over  the  fire,  his  long,  white  hands  held 
up  to  the  blaze. 

"H'areyou,  Brigit?" 

"How  d'you  do,  Gerald?" 

Carron  turned  without  rising,  and  stared  thought 
fully  at  the  girl.  He  was  a  big,  bony  man  who  had 
once  been  very  handsome,  and  the  conquering  air 
had  remained  true  to  him  long  after  the  desertion 
of  his  beauty.  This,  too,  "  gives  to  think,"  and  is 
a  warning  to  all  people  who  have  made  their  wordly 
successes  solely  by  force  of  looks,  and  these  are 
many.  Carron  pulled  his  moustache  and  narrowed 


16  THE     HALO 

his  tired-looking  blue  eyes  in  a  way  that  had  been 
very  fetching  fifteen  years  before. 

"  You  look  pretty  fit,"  he  observed  after  a  pause, 
as  she  gazed  absently  over  his  head  at  the  carvings 
of  the  mantelpiece. 

"  I'm — ripping,  thanks,"  she  answered  with  a 
bored  air. 

"  You'll  have  to  look  out,  Tony,"  he  went  on, 
frowning  as  he  caught  the  expression  in  Lady 
Kingsmead's  eyes,  "  she  is  confoundly  good-look 
ing.  Beauties'  daughters  ought  always  to  be  plain." 

Lady  Kingsmead  flushed  angrily,  and  was  about 
to  speak,  when  her  daughter  interrupted  in  a  per 
functory  voice:  "  Oh,  don't,  Gerald,  you  know  she 
loathes  being  teased.  Besides,  your  praise  doesn't 
in  the  least  interest  me." 

His  smile  was  not  good  to  see.  "  I  think,  my  dear 
Brigit,  that  you  are  about  the  handsomest  woman 
I  ever  saw — that  is,  the  handsomest  dark  woman; 
but  you  look  so  damned  ill-tempered  that  you  will 
be  hideous  in  ten  years'  time." 

The  girl  drew  a  dtep  sigh  of  indifference,  and 
turning,  walked  slowly  away.  She  wore  a  rather 
shabby  frock  of  tomato-coloured  chiffon,  and  as  she 
went  down  the  room  one  of  her  greatest  charms 
appeared  to  striking  advantage — the  lazy,  muscular 
grace  of  her  movements.  She  walked  like  an 
American  Indian  youth  of  some  superior  tribe,  and 
every  curve  of  her  body  indicated  remarkable 
physical  strength  and  endurance. 

Gerald  Carron  watched  her,  his  face  paling,  and 


THE     HALO  17 

as  Lady  Kingsmead  studied  him,  her  own  slowly  red 
dened  under  its  mask  of  paint  and  powder.  The 
situation  was  an  old  one — a  woman,  too  late  recipro 
cating  the  passion  which  she  had  toyed  with  for  many 
years,  suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  the  realisa 
tion  that  this  love  had  been  transferred  to  a  younger 
woman,  and  that  woman  her  own  daughter.  The 
little  scene  enacted  so  quietly  in  the  pretty,  conven 
tional  drawing-room,  with  its  pale  walls  and  be- 
flowered  furniture,  was  of  great  tenseness. 

Before  anyone  had  spoken  the  door  opened  and 
the  Newlyns  and  Pat  Yelverton  came  in,  Mrs. 
Newlyn  hastily  clasping  the  last  of  the  myriad  brace 
lets  that  were  so  peculiarly  unbecoming  to  her  thin 
red  arms.  She  and  her  husband  both  were  bird-like 
in  eye  and  gesture,  and  their  nicknames  among  their 
intimates  were,  though  neither  of  them  knew  it,  the 
Cassowary  and  the  Sparrow,  she  being  the  Casso 
wary.  Besides  being  bird-like,  th,ey  were  both  bores 
of  the  deepest  dye. 

Pat  Yelverton  was  a  blond  giant  with  a  very  bad 
reputation,  a  genius  for  Bridge,  and  the  softest,  most 
caressing  voice  that  ever  issued  from  a  man's  throat. 

Meeting  the  new-comers  at  the  door,  Brigit  shook 
hands  with  them  and  returned,  with  an  aimless  air 
peculiar  to  her,  to  the  fire. 

She  knew  them  all  so  well,  and  they  all  bored  her 
to  tears,  except  Carron,  whom  she  strongly  hated. 
Everybody  bored  her,  and  everything.  With  the 
utmost  sincerity  she  wondered  for  the  thousandth 
time  why  she  had  ever  been  born. 


i8  THE     HALO 

As  the  others  chattered,  she  went  to  a  window  and 
stood  looking  out  over  the  moonlit  lawn. 

"Lady  Brigit!" 

She  turned,  and  seeing  the  smile  of  delight  on  the 
boyish  face  before  her,  smiled  back.  "  Monsieur 
Joyselle!" 

Theo,  who  was  twenty-two,  and  who  adored  her, 
flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  curly  hair — and  who  was 
it  who  decided  that  blushes  stop  there,  and  do  not 
continue  up  over  the  skull,  down  the  back  and  out 
at  one's  heels? 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  cried,  holding  her  hand  tightly  in 
his.  "  Let  us  speak  French,  I — I  love  to  speak  my 
own  tongue  to  you." 

He  himself  had  a  delightful  little  fault  in  his 
speech,  being  quite  incapable  of  pronouncing  the 
English  "  r,n  rolling  it  in  his  throat  in  a  way  that 
always  amused  Brigit. 

As  he  talked,  her  smile  deepened  in  character,  and 
from  one  of  mere  friendly  greeting  became  one  of 
real  affection.  He  was  nice,  this  boy;  she  liked  his 
honest  dark  eyes  and  the  expression  of  his  handsome 
young  mouth. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  began  presently,  "  how  is  your 
father?" 

"  He  is  well,  my  father,  but  very  nervous.  Poor 
mother!  " 

"  Poor  mother?  " 

"  But  yes.  The  concert  is  to  be  to-morrow,  and  he 
is  always  in  a  furious  state  of  nerves  before  he  plays. 
He  has  been  terrific  all  day." 


THE     HALO  19 

Brigit  sat  down.  "  How  curious.  One  would 
think  that  he  of  all  people  would  be  used  to  playing 
in  public  by  now,"  she  commented,  observing  with  a 
tinge  of  impatience  the  effect  on  him  of  her  head 
outlined  against  the  pale  moonlight. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  unconsciously  and  irre 
sistibly  admiring  her.  Then,  with  a  little  shake  of  his 
head,  answered  her  remark.  "  No,  no,  he  is  most 
nervous  always.  It  is  your  amateur  who  knows  no 
stage-fright.  Papa,"  he  went  on,  using  the  name  that 
to  English  ears  sounds  so  strangely  on  grown-up  lips, 
"  says  he  invariably  feels  as  though  the  audience  were 
wild  beasts  going  to  rush  at  him  and  tear  him  to 
pieces — until  he  has  played  one  number." 

"  And  after  the  concert?  " 

As  she  spoke  dinner  was  announced,  and  while 
they  went  down  the  passage  to  the  dining-room  at 
the  tail  of  the  little  procession,  he  answered  with  a 
laugh,  "  Oh,  afterwards  a  child  could  eat  out  of  his 
hand.  He  is  honey  and  milk,  nectar  and — am- 
brrrrosia!  " 

The  dinner  was  noisy.  Lady  Kingsmead  always 
shrieked,  as  did  Mrs.  Newlyn,  and  her  other  guests 
either  bellowed  or  screamed,  with  the  exception  of 
Yelverton,  who  was  hungry  and  said  little. 

Brigit  sat  between  him  and  young  Joyselle.  It 
was  nice  to  have  the  boy  next  her,  but  his  adoration 
was  too  obvious  to  be  altogether  comfortable. 

Freddy  Newlyn  told  some  new  stories,  all  delight 
fully  vulgar;  Carron  gave  a  realistic  resume  of  a 
recent  French  play. 


20  T  H  E     H  A  L  O 

"  Awful  rot,  isn't  it?  "  queried  Yelverton  suddenly 
under  cover  of  a  roar  of  laughter.  "  Why  the  dickens 
can't  they  talk  quietly?  " 

"If  you  dislike  it,"  she  inquired  unresent fully, 
"  why  do  you  come?  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Lady  Brigit,  I  forgot  that  you 
belonged  here;  I  always  do  forget." 

Then  Joyselle  turned  to  her,  his  face  so  eloquent 
that  she  felt  like  warning  him  not  to  betray  his  secret. 
"  I — I  am  so  happy  to  be  here,"  he  stammered. 

Her  very  black,  very  well-drawn  eyebrows  drew 
a  trifle  closer  together,  and  with  the  quickness  of  his 
race  he  saw  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  Lady  Brigit,"  he  said  hastily  in 
English.  "I  am  sorry.  And — I  will  not  say  it 
again !  Only " 

"  Only — you  are  glad?  Well,  I'm  glad,  too,"  she 
answered  slowly.  The  noisier  the  others  grew  as 
dinner  progressed,  the  closer  she  and  this  quiet-voiced 
boy  seemed  to  draw  together. 

"  Poor  old  Ponty,  too  bad  he  couldn't  come,"  cried 
Mr.  Newlyn,  pecking,  sparrow-like,  at  a  scrap  of 
food  on  his  plate.  "  Anything  wrong,  Lady  Kings- 
mead?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  He  telephoned  just  before 
dinner — oh!  " 

She  broke  off,  and  everyone  turned  towards  the 
door  as  it  opened  noisily  to  admit  a  stout,  red-faced 
man,  who  stood  hesitating  on  the  threshold,  not  as 
much  apparently  from  shyness  as  from  a  kind  of 
bodily  stammer  of  movement. 


THE     HALO  21 

"Ponty!" 

"  Awfully  sorry,  Tony,"  explained  Lord  Ponte- 
fract,  advancing  towards  his  hostess,  "  awfully  sorry, 
but  that  idiot  Hendricks  got  a  telephone  message 
wrong,  and  I  thought  I  couldn't  come.  So  when  I 
found  out,  I  thought  '  better  late  than  never,'  though 
I  had  dined.  Please  say  '  better  late  than  never.'  ' 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  chanted  the  whole  party 
dissonantly,  and  room  was  made  for  the  new-comer 
between  Brigit  and  Yelverton. 

"  That  fool  Shover  nearly  broke  my  neck,  too," 
he  confided,  sitting  down  and  lowering  his  voice  con 
fidentially.  "  I — I  thought  for  a  second  I  should 
never  see  you  again." 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 
He  had  been  drinking.  No  one  had  ever  seen  Oscar 
Pontefract  drunk,  but  as  time  went  on  the  honour 
able  body  of  those  who  had  ever  seen  him  perfectly 
sober  diminished  rapidly. 

"  Haven't  seen  you  for  ten  days.  Damnedest  ten 
days  I  ever  lived  through,"  he  continued,  helping 
himself  to  whisky  and  soda,  "  and  most  infernal  ten 
nights,  too.  Can't  sleep  for  thinking  of  you,"  he 
added  hastily,  as  she  at  last  turned  and  looked  full 
at  him. 

She  was  twenty-five,  and  had  lived  in  this  milieu 
for  the  past  seven  years.  It  had  begun  by  disgust 
ing  her,  then  for  a  time  she  had  been  indifferent  to 
it,  and  now  for  the  last  year  it  had  been  growing 
steadily  unbearable. 

"  Dites  done,  Lady  Brigit,"  began  Joyselle  in  her 


22  THE     HALO 

left  ear,  and  as  she  listened  to  him  she  instinctively 
drew  away  from  Pontefract,  closer  to  him.  At  des 
sert  Kingsmead  came  sauntering  in,  less  with  the  air 
of  a  little  boy  allowed  to  appear  with  the  fruit  than 
of  a  gently  interested  gentleman  come  to  take  a  look 
at  the  strange  beasts  it  amused  him  to  keep  in  a 
remote  corner  of  his  park. 

He  ate  fruit  in,  to  the  unaccustomed  eye,  alarming 
quantities,  and  his  mother's  guests  discussed  him 
exactly  as  if  he  had  not  been  there. 

A  very  plain  little  boy,  Kingsmead,  with  stiff  fair 
hair  and  many  freckles.  But  for  his  mouth  a  most 
unremarkable-looking  person,  for  his  eyes,  quick  as 
those  of  a  lizard,  were  pale  blue  in  colour,  and  small. 
But  his  mouth  turned  up  at  the  corners  in  a  peculiar 
and  faun-like  way,  and  gave  much  character  to  his 
face,  which  was  otherwise  impassive  as  well  as  ugly. 

"  Boy  ought  to  go  to  school,"  growled  Lord 
Pontefract. 

Lady  Kingsmead  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Of 
course  he  ought/'  she  assented  shrilly,  "  but  what  am 
I  to  do?  He  simply  won't  go,  will  you,  Tommy?  " 

"  No,  I  believe  in  self-education.  The  intelligent 
child  gleans  more  from  the  company  and  conversa 
tion  of  his  elders — "  Gravely  he  paused  and  gazed 
round  the  table  at  the  meaningless  faces  of  most  of 
those  present. 

The  Cassowary  burst  into  a  scream  of  laughter. 
"  Oh,  Tommy,  you  are  such  a  quaint  little  being," 
she  cried;  "isn't  he,  Gerald?" 

"  Beastly  child.     Kingsmead  always  was  an  ass, 


THEHALO  23 

but  no  one  would  have  believed  that  even  he  could 
be  such  an  imbecile  as  to  leave  that  boy  entirely  in 
his  wife's  hands." 

"  So  ducky,  I  always  think  him,  though  not  pretty," 
returned  the  Cassowary. 

As  they  left  the  dining-room  Kingsmead  whispered 
to  his  sister,  "I  say,  Bicky,  look  out  for  Ponty.  He's 
a  bit  boiled." 


CHAPTER    THREE 

"  IF  I  do,  they  will  say  that  I  am  in  love  with  some 
man  who  either  won't  have  me,  or  is  already  mar 
ried,  or  that  I  am  forced  to,  by  my  debts.  If  I 
don't — then  this  will  go  on  indefinitely,  and  some 
fine  day  I  shall  jump  into  the  carp-pond  and  drown 
in  four  feet  of  nasty,  slimy  water." 

Brigit  Mead  stood  behind  the  heavy  curtains  by 
an  open  window  and  whispered  the  above  reflections 
to  herself.  It  was  a  trick  she  had  in  moments  of 
intense  concentration,  and  the  sharp,  hissing  sound 
of  the  last  words  was  so  distinct  that  she  invol 
untarily  turned  to  see  that  she  had  not  been  over 
heard. 

No,  it  was  all  right,  everyone  was  busy  with  the 
preparations  for  the  evening's  work,  except  Joyselle, 
who  sat  at  the  piano  and  was  playing,  very  softly,  a 
little  thing  of  Grieg's. 

The  great  hall  looked  almost  empty  in  spite  of  its 
nine  occupants,  and  the  electric  lamps  threw  little 
pools  of  light  on  the  polished  floor. 

It  might  have  been  a  cheerless  place  enough,  for 
one  unintelligent  Georgian  Kingsmead  had  added  to 
its  austerity  of  church-like  painted  windows  a  very 
awful  row  of  glossy  marble  pillars,  that  stood  as  if 
aware  of  their  own  ugliness,  holding  up  a  quite  un 
necessary  and  appallingly  hideous  gallery. 


THEHALO  25 

Luckily,  however,  the  late  Lord  Kingsmead,  while 
not  possessing  enough  initiative  to  do  away  with  the 
horrors  perpetuated  by  his  ancestors,  was  a  man  cf 
some  taste,  and  had,  by  the  means  of  gorgeous 
Eastern  carpets,  skilful  overhead  lighting,  and  some 
fine  hangings,  transformed  the  place  into  a  very 
comfortable  and  livable  one. 

A  huge  fire  burned  under  the  splendid  carved 
chimney-piece,  and  Brigit,  turning  from  the  cool 
moonlight  to  the  interior,  watched  it  with  a  certain 
sense  of  artistic  pleasure.  It  was  a  dear  old  house, 
Kingsmead,  and  with  money — oh,  yes,  oh,  yes, 
money !  When  Tommy  was  grown,  what  kind  of  a 
man  would  he  be?  She  shuddered. 

And  there,  staring  at  her  across  a  table  on  which 
he  was  leaning  to  perfect  his  not  quite  faultless 
balance,  stood  Pontefract,  money,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned,  personified. 

He  owned  mines  in  Cornwall,  a  highly  successful 
motor-factory,  a  big  London  newspaper,  a  house  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  and  Pomfret  Abbey. 

Also  he  owned  an  ever-thirsting  palate,  a  fat  red 
neck,  red-rimmed  eyes,  and  a  bald  head. 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  absent-minded  de 
liberation  that  so  annoyed  many  people.  He  was 
rather  awful  in  many  ways,  but  he  was  a  kind  man, 
his  temper  was  good,  and  he  would  doubtless  be  an 
amiable,  manageable  husband. 

"  Brigit, — let's  go  out,  I, — there  is  something  I 
want  to  tell  you."  His  voice  shook  a  little  with  real 
emotion,  and  though  he  had  undoubtedly  drunk  more 


26  THE     HALO 

than  was  good  for  him,  there  was  about  the  man 
a  certain  dignity,  compounded  of  his  breeding,  his 
respect  for  her,  and  his  sincerity. 

She  did  not  move,  and  her  small,  narrow  face  went 
white.  He  would  take  her — wherever  she  asked 
him ;  she  would  be  able  to  fly  away  from  her  mother 
and  her  mother's  friends.  After  a  long  pause,  which 
he  bore  well,  she  bowed  her  head  slowly.  "  Yes,  I 
will  get  a  scarf,"  and  leaving  him  she  left  the  room. 
Her  face  was  set  and  a  little  sullen  as  she  came  back 
with  a  long  silk  scarf  on  her  arm.  Carron  met  her 
near  the  door.  "  Made  up  your  mind,  have  you?  " 
he  asked,  with  deliberate  insolence.  "  Better  wait  till 
to-morrow,  my  dear — he's  half  drunk." 

She  hated  Carron.  Hated  him  with  an  intensity 
that  few  women  know.  At  that  moment  she  would 
have  liked  to  kill  him.  But  knowing  a  better 
weapon,  and  rejoicing  in  her  cruelty,  she  used  it. 
"  Poor  old  Gerald,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him,  "  no 
man  over  fifty  can  afford  the  luxury  of  jealousy." 

Then  she  joined  Pontefract. 

He  made  his  proposal  succinctly  and  well,  and 
without  any  confusion  she  accepted  him.  "  No — 
you  may  not  kiss  me  to-night,"  she  added.  "  You 
may  come  for  that — to-morrow.  Now  would  you 
mind  going?  I — I  want  to  be  alone." 

Quite  humbly,  hardly  daring  to  believe  in  his  good 
fortune,  he  left  her,  and  she  wandered  aimlessly  over 
the  grass  towards  the  carp-pond.  "  Nasty,  slimy 
water,"  she  said  aloud,  "  you  have  lost  me!  " 

Joyselle  had  stopped  playing,    and  through   the 


THE     HALO  27 

open  windows  only  a  very  subdued  murmur  of  voices 
came.  Even  Bridge  has  its  uses.  The  night  was 
perfect,  and  the  serene  moon  sailed  high  under  a 
scrap  of  cloud  like  a  wing.  The  old  house,  most 
beautiful,  looked,  among  its  surrounding  trees, 
secluded  and  protected. 

"  It  looks  like  a  home,"  thought  the  girl   bitterly. 

And  then  young  Joyselle  joined  her. 

"  May  I  come?    Shall  I  bother  you?  " 

'*  You  may  come;  and  you  never  bother  me." 

His  youthful  face  was  pleasant  to  look  at;  the 
dominating  expression  of  it  was  one  of  sunny  sweet 
ness.  Would  Tommy  grow  to  be  as  nice  a  young 
man? 

Tommy,  that  old  person,  was,  she  knew,  perched 
astride  a  chair  near  the  Bridge  table,  picking  up, 
with  uncanny  shrewdness,  all  sorts  of  tips  about  the 
great  game,  as  he  picked  up  knowledge  about  every 
thing  that  came  his  way.  Up  to  this,  his  varied  stock 
of  information  had  not  hurt  him.  Later — who  could 
tell? 

"  Where  is  Tommy?"  she  asked  miserably. 

"  Watching  the  Bridge.  Why  are  you  unhappy?  " 
His  dark  eyes  were  bent  imploringly  on  hers.  "  I — 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  suffer." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dleu,  je  ne  souffre  pas!  That  is  say 
ing  far  too  much.  I — — " 

"Was  it  Pontefract?" 

"  No,  oh,  no.  Ponty  and  I  are  very  good  friends," 
she  returned  absently.  And  then  she  remembered. 
She  was  going  to  marry  Ponty ! 


28  THE     HALO 

"  Let's  walk  to  the  sun-dial  and  see  what  time  it 
is  by  the  moon,"  she  suggested  abruptly. 

But  at  the  sun-dial  he  insisted  further,  always 
gentle  and  apologetic,  but  always  bent  on  having  an 
answer  to  his  question. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  marry  him?  "  he  asked. 

"Who  told  you  I  was?" 

"  No  one."   ' 

"Oh!" 

"Well,  ^you?" 

His  head  fairly  swam  as  he  looked  at  her  in  the 
full  moonlight.  "  What  made  you  think  of  it?  "  she 
returned. 

>l  Tommy — told  me  not  to  interrupt  you — and 
him." 

"  Well— it's  true." 

He  was  young,  and  French,  and  she  was  beautiful 
and  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  Kneeling 
suddenly  on  the  damp  grass,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
arms  as  they  lay  limply  across  the  sun-dial.  There 
was  a  long  pause.  He  did  not  sob,  he  was  quite  still, 
but  every  line  of  him  proclaimed  unspeakable  agony. 

"  Poor  boy,"  she  said  gently. 

Then  he  rose.  "  I  am  not  a  boy,"  he  declared,  his 
chin  twitching  but  his  voice  firm,  "  and  I  love  you. 
He  is  old  and — c'est  un  vieux  roue.  I  at  least  am 
young  and  I  have  lived  a  clean  life." 

He  asked  her  no  question,  but  she  paused  to  con 
sider.  "  I  know,  I  understand,"  he  continued,  "  you 
hate  this  life,  you  are  bored  and  sick  of  it  all;  you 
do  not  love  your  mother.  Mon  Dieu>  ne  pas  pouvoir 


THE    HALO  29 

aimer  sa  mere!  And  you  want  to  get  away.  Then 
• — marry  me  instead.  I  am  not  so  rich,  but  I  am 
rich.  And,  ah,  I  love  you — je  taime!' 

Poor  Pontefract,  leaning  back  in  his  big  Mercedes 
trying  to  realise  his  bliss,  was  jilted  before  Brigit 
had  spoken  a  word.  Like  a  flash,  his  image  seemed 
to  stand  before  her,  beside  the  delightful  boy-man 
whose  youth  and  niceness  pleaded  so  strongly  to  her. 
She  did  not  consider  that  breaking  her  word  was  not 
fair  play,  she  had  no  thought  of  pity  for  Pontefract. 
She  loved  nobody,  and  therefore  thought  solely  of 
herself.  This  boy  was  right.  She  would  be  happier 
with  him  than  with  poor,  old,  fat  Ponty.  So  poor, 
old,  fat  Ponty  went  to  the  wall,  and  putting  her  hands 
into  Joyselle's,  she  said  slowly: 

"  Very  well — I  will.  I  will  marry  you.  Only — 
you  must  know  that  I  am  an  odious  person,  selfish 
and  moody,  and " 

But  she  could  not  finish  her  sentence,  because  Joy- 
selle  had  her  in  his  arms  and  was  kissing  her. 

"  I  will  be  your  servant  and  your  slave,"  he  told 
her,  with  very  bad  judgment  but  much  sincerity. 
"  I  will  serve  you  on  my  knees." 

u  Now  you  must — buck  up — and  not  let  them  see 
to-night.  Mother  will  be  cross  at  first.  And — I 
must  write  Ponty  before  we  tell." 

Her  practical  tone  struck  chill  on  Joyselle's  glow 
ing  young  ear,  but  he  followed  her  obediently  to  the 
house.  As  they  reached  the  door  the  opening  bar 
of  Mendelssohn's  Wedding  March  rang  out,  played 


30  T  H  E     H  A  L  O 

with  a  mastery  of  the  pianola  that,  in  that  house, 
only  Kingsmead  was  capable  of. 

On  entering,  Brigit's  face  was  scarlet.  She  knew 
that  her  brother  was  welcoming  the  wrong  bride 
groom.  And  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  it  was 
awkward  to  be  engaged  to  two  men  at  once. 

"  I  say "  began  Tommy  as  he  say  Joyselle, 

and  she  interrupted  him  hastily.  "  Play  something 
of  Binding's,  dear,"  she  said,  and  the  boy  complied. 
But  his  eye  was  horribly  knowing,  and  hard  to  bear. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

LADY  BRIGIT  leaned  back  in  her  corner  and 
surveyed  the  otherwise  empty  compartment  with  a 
sigh  of  relief.  She  knew  that  her  face  still  bore 
signs  of  the  anger  roused  by  her  mother  in  their 
recent  interview,  and  she  felt  the  necessity  of  looking 
as  savage  as  she  felt. 

And  she  felt  very  savage  indeed.  If  an  American 
Indian — an  idealised,  poeticised  American  Indian — 
could  be  invested  with  the  beauty  that  does  not 
belong  to  the  red  races  and  yet  which,  if  perfected  on 
the  lines  of  beauty  suggested  by  some  of  the  nobler 
specimens  of  the  nobler  tribes,  she  might  look  like 
Brigit  Mead.  The  girl  had  a  clean-cutness  of  fea 
ture,  a  thin  compactness  of  build,  a  stag-like  carriage 
of  her  small  head  that,  together  with  her  almost 
bronze  skin  and  coal-black  hair,  gave  her  an  air  re 
markably  and  arrestingly  un-English.  The  picture 
in  the  Luxembourg  gallery,  a  typically  French,  subtle, 
secretive  face,  gives  the  expression  of  her  face  and 
the  strange  gleam  in  the  long  eyes.  But  it,  the  face 
in  the  picture,  is  overcivilised,  whereas  Brigit  looked 
untamed  and  resentful. 

She  wore,  for  the  weather  had  changed  with  the 
unpleasant  capriciousness  of  an  elderly  coquette,  a 
warm,  close-fitting  black  coat  and  skirt  and  a  small 
black  toque.  Round  her  neck  clung  to  its  own  tail, 


32  THE     HALO 

as  if  in  a  despairing  attempt  to  find  out  what  had 
happened  to  its  own  anatomy,  a  little  sable  boa. 
She  had  a  dressing-case  and  an  umbrella,  both  of 
them  characteristically  uncumbersome  and  light,  and 
several  newspapers  and  a  book. 

Her  journey  was  not  to  be  a  long  one.  She  was 
going  to  change  trains  in  London  and  go  half  an 
hour  into  Surrey  to  spend  a  few  days  with  a  friend. 
Lady  Kingsmead,  when  told  of  the  speedy  jilting  of 
the  desirable  Pontefract,  and  the  subsequent  accept 
ance  of  young  Joyselle,  had  been  disagreeable. 

"  It  is  ridiculous,  and  everyone  will  say  you  are 
cradle-snatching,"  she  had  said.  "  When  you  are 
forty  he  will  be  thirty-seven — almost  a  boy  still." 

"  Dearest  mamma,"  returned  the  girl  with  a  very 
unfilial  lift  of  her  upper  lip,  "  forty  is — youth!" 

"  And  for  you  to  marry  a  nobody;  the  son  of  no 
body  knows  whom !  " 

"  But  everybody  knows  who  his  father  is — which 
is  rather  distinguished  nowadays!  " 

Then  Lady  Kingsmead,  as  was  natural,  quite  lost 
her  temper  and  stormed.  Brigit  was  an  idiot,  a  fool, 
a  beastly  little  creature  to  do  such  a  thing.  Ponty 
was  a  gentleman,  at  least,  whereas 

"  Whereas  Theo  is  a  delightful,  nice,  perfectly 
presentable  young  man,  and  the  son  of  the  greatest 
violinist  of  the  century." 

"  Ah,  bah !  of  the  last  ten  years,  yes." 

"  Of  the  century.  As  to  Ponty — why  don't  you 
marry  him  yourself?  Anyone  could  marry  Ponty!  " 

Then,  suddenly  ashamed  of  herself,  the  girl  had 


THEHALO  33 

begged  her  mother's  pardon,  but  Lady  Kingsmead 
was  not  of  those  to  whom  the  crowning  charm  of 
graceful  forgiveness  has  been  vouchsafed,  and  the 
battle  went  on.  To  end  it,  Brigit  announced  her 
intention  of  going  to  stop  with  her  friend  Pam  de 
Lensky,  and  without  more  ado,  or  a  word  of  good 
bye,  had  left  the  house. 

Now,  though  ashamed,  or  possibly  because  she 
was  ashamed,  her  anger  against  her  mother  refused 
to  subside,  but  grew  stronger  and  bitterer  as  the  train 
rushed  through  the  dull  afternoon  Londonwards. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  marry  whom  I  choose?  What 
has  she  ever  done  for  me  that  gives  her  a  right  to 
dictate  to  me?  And  I  could  kill  Gerald."  A  dark 
flush  crept  up  her  cheeks  and  her  mouth  twisted 
furiously.  For  Carron  had  dared  to  waylay  her  in 
the  passage  on  her  way  to  her  room,  and  his  remarks 
had  not  been  of  a  kind  calculated  to  quiet  her. 
Women  who  have  loved  are  sorry  for  men  who  love 
them,  but  women  who  do  not  know  what  the  word 
means  are  either  amused  or  irritated  by  it.  The 
conversation,  carried  on  in  a  careful  undertone,  and 
lasting  only  about  five  minutes,  was  one  that  the  girl 
would  never,  she  knew,  be  able  to  forget,  and  one 
that  neither  she  nor  the  man  could  ever  make  even  a 
pretence  of  forgiving. 

Far  too  excited  and  annoyed  to  read,  she  watched 
with  unseeing  eyes  the  swift  flight  of  the  familiar 
landscape,  and  then  suddenly,  as  the  train  stopped, 
came  to  herself  with  a  start.  Victoria ! 

Mechanically,  her  thick  chiffon  veil  over  her  face, 


34  THE     HALO 

she  looked  after  her  luggage,  took  a  hansom,  and 
drove  down  Victoria  Street,  past  the  Abbey,  over 
Westminster  Bridge,  and  so  to  Waterloo  Station. 

London  was  dull,  but  its  dulness,  grey  and  soft, 
was  being  mitigated  by  a  gradual  and  beautiful 
blossoming  of  lights — lights  reddish,  golden,  and 
clear  white.  People  hurried  along  the  streets,  han 
soms  jingled  and  passed  by,  buses  and  vans  blocked 
the  view  and  then,  with  elephantine  deliberateness, 
ambled  on.  Motors  of  all  kinds  grunted  and  jingled, 
from  the  opulent,  throaty-voiced  ones,  that  chuckle 
as  if  they  were  fed  on  turtle-soup,  to  the  cheap  va 
riety,  that  sound  as  they\  pass  like  an  old-fashioned 
tinsmith's  waggon. 

And  the  combined  effect  of  all  these  varied  sounds 
was  so  different  from  the  sound  of  Paris,  or  New 
York,  or  Berlin,  that  an  intelligent  blind  man  would 
have  known  where  he  was,  if  softly  and  undisturb- 
ingly  dropped  from  a<  balloon  to  a  safe  street  corner. 

Brigit  Mead  had  no  particular  love  for  the  old 
town,  just  as  she  had  no  particular  love  for  her  little 
brother's  country-house.  She  was  too  bored  to  care 
in  the  least  where  she  was,  and  only  a  few  people  in 
the  world  could  soothe  her  vexed  and  discontented 
mind  to  a  sense  of  calm.  The  woman  to  visit  whom 
she  was  on  her  way  was  one  of  these,  and  as  she 
bought  her  ticket  and  made  her  way  to  the  train  a 
little  of  her  ill-temper  died  away.  "  Good  old  Pam," 
she  whispered  under  her  veil,  "  she  will  be  glad  I 
didn't  take  Ponty!  " 

Then  there  would  be  the  children — six-years-old 


THE     HALO  35 

Pammy,  the  De  Lenskys'  adopted  child,  and  their 
own  little  Eliza  and  Thaddy — the  latter  a  delicious, 
roundabout  person  of  eighteen  months,  the  very  feel 
of  whom  was  comforting. 

"  An  empty  carriage,  if  there  is  one,  please,"  she 
asked  the  guard,  and  he  opened  a  door  and  helped 
her  into  a  still  unlit  compartment.  She  closed  the 
door  and,  letting  down  the  glass,  leaned  her  head  on 
her  hand  and  watched,  through  the  veil  she  always 
wore  when  travelling  as  a  protection  against  imperti 
nent  and  boring  admiration,  the  little  crowd  on  the 
platform. 

Most  of  them  looked,  thank  Heaven,  second  class 
— she  would  be  alone.  And  then,  just  at  the  last, 
three  men,  all  apparently  very  much  excited  and 
speaking  French  very  loudly,  rushed  at  her  door  and 
tore  it  open.  "  Adieu  done,  cher  maitre  " — "  Bon 
voyage  " — "  Au  'voir,  mes  enfants — merci  infini- 
ment  "-*-"  Mille  tendr esses  a  Eugenie!  " 

And  the  train  had  started,  leaving  Brigit  alone  in 
the  dusk  with  a  very  big  man  in  a  fur-collared  over 
coat  and  a  long  box,  that  he  deposited  with  much 
care  on  the  seat,  humming  to  himself  as  he  did  so. 
Then  he  sat  down  and,  taking  off  his  broad-brimmed 
felt  hat,  wiped  his  forehead  and  face  with  a  handker 
chief  that  smelt  strongly  of  violets. 

Lady  Brigit  shrank  fastidiously  into  her  corner. 
Another  thing  to  bore  her.  She  was  of  those  women 
who  always  hate  their  fellow-travellers  and  resent 
their  existence.  And  this  man  was  too  big,  there 
was  too  much  fur  on  his  coat,  too  much  scent  on  his 


36  THE     HALO 

handkerchief.  "  Salut  demeure  chaste  et  pure"  he 
began  singing,  suddenly,  apparently  quite  uncon 
scious  of  his  companion's  presence.  "  Salut  de 
meure "  It  was  a  high  baritone  voice,  sweet  and 

round,  and  his  r's  were  like  Theo  Joyselle's.  Brigit 
smiled.  Dear  Theo !  Her  mother  could  be  as  nasty 
as  she  liked,  but  they  would  be  happy  in  spite  of  her. 
And  then,  as  in  the  beginning  of  the  world,  it  was 
light,  and  the  girl  recognised  in  her  suddenly  silent 
vis-a-vis  the  man  who  was  to  be  her  father-in-law, 
Victor  Joyselle. 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  his  dark,  handsome, 
excited  face  was  distinctly  visible  under  the  untidy, 
slightly  curly  mass  of  peculiarly  silky,  silver-grey 
hair.  Brigit  drew  a  deep  breath.  Victor  Joyselle ! 
She  had  often  heard  him  play.  Those  were  the 
hands,  in  the  brown  dogskin  gloves,  that  worked  such 
witchery  with  his  violin.  That  was  the  violin  in  the 
shabby  box  beside  him.  His  dark  eyes,  over  which 
the  lids  dropped  at  the  outer  corners,  were  now  fixed 
on  hers,  he  was  trying  to  see  through  her  veil.  He 
was  a  magnificent  creature,  even  now,  with  his  youth 
behind  him:  his  big  nose  had  fine  cut,  sensitive  nos 
trils,  his  mouth  under  a  big  moustache  was  well-cut 
and  serene,  and  his  strong  chin  was  softened  by  a 
dimple.  And  he  was  to  be — her  father-in-law. 

For  the  first  time  for  months  the  girl  felt  the  youth 
and  sense  of  fun  stir  in  her.  Then  he  spoke — irre- 
pressibly,  as  if  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,  for  singing,"  he 
burst  out,  "  I — forgot  that  I  was  not  alone." 


THE     HALO  37 

She  bowed  without  speaking.    Madame ! 

"  May  I  open  the  other  window?  "  he  pursued, 
rising  restlessly  and  tearing  off  his  gloves  as  if  they 
hurt  him,  thereby  revealing  a  large  diamond  on  the 
little  finger  of  his  right — the  bow-hand. 

"  Yes." 

He  did  so,  and  then  sat  down,  and  taking  an  open 
telegram  from  his  pocket,  read  it  through  several 
times,  his  nostrils  quivering,  his  mouth  dimpling  in 
an  uncontrollable  and  enchanting  smile.  Then  again, 
as  if  impelled  by  some  superior  force,  he  turned  to 
her  and  said:  "  I  am  not  a  lunatic,  madame.  I  am 
Victor  Joyselle.  I  have  played — my  very  best  this 
afternoon,  and  my  son,  mon  bebe — is  engaged  to  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  England!  " 

Inspired  to  a  dramatic  act  totally  foreign  to  her 
nature,  impelled  by  his  sheer  strength  of  imagination 
and  his  buoyant  personality,  Lady  Brigit  Mead  threw 
back  her  veil. 

"  Theo  is  engaged — to  me,"  she  answered. 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

JOYSELLE  stared  at  her,  his  eyes  like  two  lamps. 
Then  rushing  at  her,  he  took  her  hands  in  his  and 
bent  over  her.  "  Good  God !  Good  God !  "  he  cried 
rapidly  in  French,  "you  are  Lady  Brigit  Mead? 
You — you  Diana — you  splendeur  de  femme?  But  I 
dream — I  dream !  " 

"  Indeed,  no,  I  am  Brigit  Mead,  M.  Joyselle," — 
she  was  laughing,  laughing  with  delightful  amuse 
ment.  He  was  too  delicious!  Then  she  added 
hastily,  u  You  are  crushing  my  hands!  " 

Sitting  down  by  her,  he  patted  her  reddened  fin 
gers  tenderly.  "  Chere  enfant,  chere  enfant,  forgive 
an  old  papa — qui  fa  fait  bobo — and  you  are  actually 
going  to  marry  my  Theo?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Then,"  with  a  solemnity  that  was  as  overwhelm 
ing  as  his  joy,  he  returned,  bowing  his  head  as  if  in 
church,  "  il  a  une  sacree  chance.  He  is — the  luckiest 
boy  in  the  world." 

Brigit  had  forgotten  what  boredom  meant.  This 
spontaneous,  warm-hearted  person  with — oh,  horror, 
— a  white  satin  tie,  and  a  low,  turned-down  collar, 
filled  her  with  the  gentlest  and  most  affectionate 
amusement.  And  as  he  was  to  be  her  father-in-law, 
why  not  enjoy  him? 


THEHALO  39 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  be  so  pleased,"  she  said,  "  it 
is  very  interesting,  our  meeting  like  this " 

"  Interesting !  It  is— romance,  my  dear,  romance, 
of  the  most  unusual.  And  you  are  so  beautiful  that 
I  cannot  look  away  from  you.  He  told  me  you  were 
beautiful — yes — but  I  had  pictured  to  myself  a  pink 
and  white  miss  with  a  head  as  big  as  a  pumpkin — 
and,  just  Heaven — a  *  drawing-room  voice.'  Tell 
me,  oh,  tell  me,  fille  adoree,  that  you  do  not  sing!  " 

His  anxiety  was  perfectly  sincere,  and  she  hastened 
to  reassure  him.  "  Indeed,  I  do  not." 

"  Nor  play — not  even  '  simple  little  things,'  and 
*  coon-songs  '  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  God  be  praised  I"  he  returned  with  a  sort  of 
whimsical  reverence,  in  French.  "  Then  you  are 
perfect." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not.  Oh,  I  really  am  not!'"  Be 
fore  she  knew  what  he  was  about  to  do,  he  had  kissed 
her  forehead,  and  then,  as  the  train  stopped,  he 
rushed  at  the  window. 

"  But  where  are  you  going?  "  he  cried,  so  rapidly 
that  she  hardly  understood  him.  "  Why  are  you — 
why  are  we  both — going  away  from  London?  We 
must  go  home — to  my  house — to  my  wife." 

"  I  am  going  to  make  a  visit " 

"Mais  non,  mals  non,  mais  non — come,  there  is  a 
train  going  to  London — hurry,  we  will  go  back. 
You  will  telegraph  your  friends.  This  evening — the 
betrothal  evening,  you  must  spend  with  us.  Come, 
hurry,  or  we  shall  be  too  late." 


40  THEHALO 

"  But  I  cannot,  it  is  impossible,"  she  protested 
weakly,  as  he  took  her  dressing-case  and  umbrella 
from  the  seat,  after  scrambling  into  his  furry  coat. 
"  My  friend  is  expecting  me!  " 

''  Ta,  ta,  ta,  ta,  ta  !  Come,  ma  fille,  bella  signorina, 
the  train  is  just  there — I  will  telegraph  your  friend. 
Let  me  help  you,  comme  qa,  qa  y  est!  " 
.  And  almost  before  she  knew  what  had  hap 
pened,  they  were  in  the  other  train  speeding  back  to 
town. 

"  Theo  is  at  home — he  went  to  tell  his  mother, " 
Joyselle  said,  nearly  braining  an  old  lady  with  his 
violin-case  as  he  swung  round  to  speak.  "  And  they 
will  be  sitting  by  the  fire,  and  I — who  was  going  to 
spend  the  night  at  the  Duke  of  Cumberland's — will 
appear,  and  after  we  have  embraced,  hey,  presto — I 
produce  you — Diana — his  adoree — my  daughter." 

The  old  lady,  who  was  engaged  to  nobody  (and 
who,  what  was  much  worse,  never  had  been),  re 
sented  his  loud  voice  and  his  way  of  handling  his 
violin-case  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby.  "  Sir,"  she  said, 
"  you  are  crowding  me." 

"  Sacre  nom  d'une  pipe — I  beg  your  pardon, 
madame,  but  you  must  not  push  that  box.  You  must 
not  touch  it,"  he  returned,  all  his  smiles  gone  and  a 
ferocious  frown  joining  his  big  black  eyebrows.  "  It 
contains  my  violin,  madame,  my  Amati !  " 

Brigit,  convulsed  with  laughter,  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm  as  if  she  had  known  him  for  years,  and  he 
became  like  a  lamb  at  her  touch. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,"  he  added,  smiling 


THE     HALO  41 

angelically  (and  an  angelic  smile  on  a  dark,  middle- 
aged  face  is  a  very  winning  thing) ,  "  I  will  put  it 
over  here." 

Then,  his  beloved  fiddle  safe  from  profane  touch, 
he  again  turned  to  Brigit. 


CHAPTER    SIX 

NUMBER  57  Golden  Square  was  dark  when 
Joyselle's  cab  stopped  in  front  of  it,  and  he,  after 
tenderly  depositing  his  violin-case  under  the  little 
portico,  assisted  Brigit  to  alight.  "  They  are,  of 
course,  in  the  kitchen,"  he  remarked  as  he  paid  the 
cabby.  "  Come,  ma  belle." 

She  followed  him  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream,  watch 
ing  him  open  the  door  with  a  latchkey,  after  a  frantic 
search  for  that  object  in  all  his  pockets,  tiptoeing 
after  him  as,  a  finger  to  his  lips,  a  delighted,  boyish 
smile  crinkling  his  eyelids,  he  led  her  down  the  nar 
row,  oilclothed  passage. 

"  Why  are  they  in  the  kitchen?"  she  asked,  as 
excited  as  he. 

"  It  is  nearly  eight;  she  is  busy  with  supper." 

Even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  single  gas  burner 
Brigit  caught  at  once  the  predominating  note  of  the 
house:  its  intense  and  wonderful  cleanliness.  The 
walls,  painted  white,  were  snowy,  the  chequered  oil 
cloth  under  her  feet  as  spotless  as  if  it  had  that 
moment  come  from  the  shop,  and  the  slender  hand 
rail  of  the  steep  staircase  glanced  with  polish,  draw 
ing  an  arrow  of  light  through  the  dusk. 

Putting  his  violin-case  on  the  table,  Joyselle  took 
off  his  hat  and  with  some  difficulty  pulled  his  arms 
out  of  his  greatcoat  sleeves.  Then,  taking  his  guest 


THEHALO  43 

by  the  arm,  he  very  softly  opened  the  door  leading 
to  the  basement,  and  started  down  the  stairs,  soft- 
footed  as  a  great  cat.  Could  it  possibly  be  she, 
Brigit  Mead,  creeping  stealthily  down  a  basement 
staircase,  her  arm  firmly  held  by  a  man  to  whom  she 
had  never  spoken  until  that  afternoon? 

The  stairs  turned  sharply  to  the  left  half-way 
down,  and  at  the  turning  a  flood  of  warm  light  met 
them,  together  with  a  smell  of  cooking. 

"Ah,  little  mother,  little  mother,"  Theo's  voice 
was  saying,  "  just  wait  till  you  see  her." 

Joyselle's  delight  in  the  artistic  timeliness  of  the 
speech  found  vent  in  his  putting  his  arm  round  his 
companion's  slim  waist  and  giving  her  a  hearty, 
paternal  hug.  Her  whole  face,  in  the  darkness, 
quivered  with  amusement.  She  had  never  in  her 
whole  life  been  so  thoroughly  and  satisfactorily 
amused.  Then,  having  gone  forward  as  far  as  his 
now  simply  restraining  hold  would  let  her,  she  looked 
down  into  the  kitchen. 

It  was  a  large  room,  snowy  with  whitewash  as  to 
walls  and  ceiling,  spotless  as  to  floor.  At  the  far 
end  of  it,  opposite  a  pagoda-like  and  beautiful  but 
apparently  unlighted  modern  English  stove,  was  a 
huge,  deep,  cavernous  fireplace,  unlike  any  the  girl 
had  ever  seen.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  perfect  copy  of  a 
Norman  fireplace,  with  stone  seats  at  the  sides,  an 
old-fashioned  spit,  and  the  fire  burning  lustily  on 
the  floor  of  it,  unhemmed  by  dogs  or  grate.  On  a 
long,  sand-scoured  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
sat  Theo,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  deftly  breaking  eggs 


44  THEHALO 

into  a  big,  green-lined  bowl,  while  before  the  fire, 
gently  swinging  to  and  fro  over  the  flames  a  sauce 
pan  with  an  abnormally  long  handle — Madame  Joy- 
selle.  Her  short,  dark-clad  figure,  half-covered  with 
a  blue  apron,  showed  all  its  too-generous  curves  as 
she  bent  forward,  and  when,  at  Theo's  remark,  she 
turned  to  him  with  a  smile,  she  showed  a  round, 
wrinkled,  rosy  face  and  small  blue  eyes  that  wrinkled 
with  sympathetic  kindness.  u  She  is  beautiful,  my 
little  bit  of  cabbage?  " 

Theo  broke  the  last  egg,  sat  down  the  bowl,  and 
got  down  from  the  table.  "  Tannier — you  remember 
him?  The  man  who  painted  everybody  last  winter 
• — said  she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had 
ever  seen."  The  pride  in  his  voice  was  good  to  hear. 

"  Tant  mieux!  Beauty  is  a  quality  like  another. 
And — voila  mon  petit,  give  me  the  eggs — she  loves 
you?"  As  she  put  the  question  she  took  the  bowl 
and  began  beating  the  eggs  violently  yet  lightly  with 
a  whisk.  She  had  turned  the  mixture  into  her  hot 
saucepan  and  was  holding  it  over  the  fire  before  the 
young  man  answered.  He  stood,  his  hands  in  his 
trousers-pockets,  his  head  bent  thoughtfully.  Then 
he  spoke,  and  his  words  mingled  with  the  hissing  of 
the  omelet.  "  I  think  she  must,"  he  said  with  a  cer 
tain  dignified  simplicity,  "  or  she  would  not  have 
accepted  me.  But — not  as  I  love  her.  That  could 
not  be,  you  know." 

The  eavesdroppers  started  apart  guiltily,  and  for 
a  second  Brigit  wanted  to  rush  up  the  stairs  and  out 
of  the  house.  She  had  heard  too  much. 


THEHALO  45 

But  Joyselle,  gently  pushing  her  out  of  his  way, 
ran  down  the  steps  and  with  a  big  laugh  threw  his 
arms  round  his  boy  and  kissed  him. 

"  Foyons  I'amoureux"  he  cried,  "  show  me  thy 
face  of  a  lover,  little  boy,  who  only  yesterday  wore 
aprons  and  climbed  on  my  knees  to  search  for  sweets 
in  my  pockets !  " 

Madame  Joyselle  turned  quietly,  after  having, 
with  a  dexterous  twist  of  her  frying-pan,  flopped  her 
omelet  to  its  other  side.  "  Victor !  And  what  brings 
you  back,  my  man?  " 

Her  pleasant,  placid  face  was  a  great  contrast  to 
his  as  he  rushed  at  her  and  kissed  her  hot  cheek. 

"  Fa  t'en — you  will  make  me  drop  Theo's  omelet.'* 

Joyselle  took  Theo's  hands  in  his  and  looked 
solemnly  at  his  son.  "  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  my  very 
dear  son,  God  bless  you  and — her." 

Again  Brigit  longed  to  flee,  but  she  knew  that  if 
she  tried,  Joyselle  would  be  after  her  like  a  shot, 
and,  she  realised  with  an  irrepressible  little  laugh, 
probably  pick  her  up  and  carry  her  down  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  Are  you  hungry,  my  man?  "  asked  Madame  Joy 
selle,  slipping  the  omelet  onto  a  warmed  platter, 
"  there  is  some  galantine  de  volaille  truffee,  and  this, 
and  some  cold  veal." 

Joyselle  patted  her  affectionately  on  the  back. 

"  Oui,  ouiy  my  femme,  I  am  hungry.  But — Theo 
« — to-night  I  am  a  wizard.  I  will  grant  you  any  wish 
you  may  have  in  your  heart." 

»  Any  wish " 


46  THEHALO 

"Pauvre  petit,  tell  him  not  that,  Victor,  my  man. 
What  would  the  poor  angel  desire  but  the  im 
possible?  " 

Theo  stood  silently  looking  at  them.  He  was 
evidently  in  no  mood  for  farce,  but  as  evidently  he 
adored  this  noisy  big  father  who  towered  above  his 
slender  height  like  a  giant,  and  tried  to  force  himself 
to  his  father's  humour.  "  Dear  papa,"  he  murmured, 
"  it  is  good  that  you  have  come.  I  am  so  happy." 

Joyselle  seized  the  opportunity,  such  as  it  was,  and 
turning  to  the  open  door,  called  out  in  a  voice  trem 
bling  with  pleasure  and  mischief,  "  Fairy  Princess, 
come  forth." 

And  the  disdainful,  bored,  too  often  frankly  ill- 
humoured  Lady  Brigit  stepped  out  of  the  darkness 
into  the  homely  light  of  the  simple  scene. 

For  a  moment  Theo  plainly  did  not  believe  his 
eyes,  and  then  as  she  advanced,  scarlet  with  a  quite 
unusual  embarrassment  and  sense  of  intrusion,  he 
gathered  himself  together  and  met  her,  his  hands 
held  out,  his  face  glowing. 

"  Victor — oh,  Victor — this  is  terrible,"  Madame 
Joyselle  burst  out,  scarlet  with  shyness,  all  her 
serenity  gone.  "  You  should  not  have  brought  her 
to  the  kitchen!  Mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu,  a  countess' 
daughter!  " 

But  Theo  led  his  fiancee  straight  to  his  mother, 
and  his  instinctive  good  taste  saved  the  situation. 
"  Mamma — here  she  is.  Lady  Brigit,  this  is  my 
mother — the  best  mother  in  the  world." 

The  little  roundabout  woman  wiped  her  hand  on 


THE    HALO  47 

her  apron,  and  taking  the  girl's  in  hers,  looked 
mutely  up  at  her  with  eyes  so  full  of  timid  sweetness 
that  Brigit,  touched  and  pleased,  bent  and  kissed 
her. 

"Foyons,  voyons"  cried  Joyselle,  rubbing  his 
hands  and  executing  a  few  steps  by  the  fire,  "  here  we 
are  all  one  family.  Felicite,  my  old  woman,  is  she 
not  wonderful?  " 

Madame  Joyselle,  the  flush  dying  from  her  fresh 
cheeks,  bowed.  "  She  is  indeed.  And  now — Theo, 
call  Toinon — we  must  go  to  the  dining-room."  No 
body  else,  even  Brigit,  who  had  never  beheld  that 
cheerless  apartment,  wished  to  leave  the  kitchen,  but 
Madame  Joyselle's  will  was  in  such  matters  law,  and 
the  little  party  was  soon  seated  round  the  table  up 
stairs.  And  the  omelet  was  delicious. 

An  hour  later  Brigit  found  herself  sitting  in  a  big 
red-leather  armchair,  in  a  highly  modern  and  com 
fortable,  if  slightly  gaudy  apartment — Joyselle's 
study.  There  was  a  small  grate-fire  with  a  red  club- 
fender,  a  red,  patternless  carpet,  soft,  well-draped 
curtains,  and  tables  covered  with  books  and  smoking 
materials. 

There  was  also  a  baby-grand  piano,  covered  with 
music,  and  a  huge  grey  parrot  in  a  gilded  and 
palatial  cage. 

It  was  Joyselle's  translation  of  an  English  gentle 
man's  room,  even  to  the  engravings  and  etchings  on 
the  wall.  One  thing,  however,  the  girl  had  never 
before  seen.  One  end  of  the  room  was  glassed  in  as 


48  T  H  E     H  A  L  O 

if  in  a  huge  oak  frame,  and  the  wall  behind  it  was 
literally  covered  with  signed  photographs. 

"  Most  of  'em  are  royalties,"  Joyselle  explained 
with  a  certain  naif  pride,  "  beginning  with  your  late 
Queen.  I  used  to  play  Norman  folk-songs  to  her. 
There  is  the  Kaiser's,  the  late  Kaiser's,  the  Czar's, 
Umberto's,  Margarita's,  who  loves  music,  more  than 
most — and  toute  la  boutique.  Then  there  are  also 
those  of  all  the  musicians,  and — -but  you  will  see  to 


morrow." 


He  had  brought  his  violin-case  upstairs,  and  now 
opened  it  and  took  out  his  Amati.  "  I  will  play  for 
you,  ma  chere  fille,"  he  declared. 

And  he  played.  Brigit  watched  him,  amazed. 
Where  was  the  rowdy,  loud-voiced,  amusing  and 
almost  ridiculously  boyish  middle-aged  man  with 
whom  she  had  come  to  town? 

This  man's  face  was  that  of  a  priest  adoringly 
performing  the  rites  of  his  religion.  His  head 
thrown  back,  his  fine  mouth  set  in  lines  of  ecstatic 
reverence,  he  played  on  and  on,  his  eyes  unseeing,  or 
rather  the  eyes  of  one  seeing  visions. 

He  was  a  creature  of  no  country,  no  age.  His 
grey  hair  failed  to  make  him  old,  his  unwrinkled 
face  failed  to  make  him  young.  And  as  he  played 
— to  her,  she  knew — -years  of  imprisonment  and 
sorrow  seemed  to  drop  from  the  girl;  she  forgot  all 
the  bitterness,  all  the  resentment  that  had  spoiled 
her  life  hitherto,  and  she  felt  as  she  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  and  listened  as  if  she  had  at  last  come  to  a 
haven  and  found  youth  awaiting  her  there. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

IT  is  pleasant  to  wake  to  the  sound  of  exquisite — 
and  sufficiently  distant — music.  It  is  also  pleasant 
to  wake  to  the  odour  of  good — and  sufficiently  dis 
tant — coffee. 

The  morning  after  her  remarkable  arrival  in 
Golden  Square  Brigit  Mead  awoke  to  both  these 
pleasant  things.  Somewhere  downstairs  someone 
was  playing  a  simple,  plaintive  air  on  a  violin,  and 
still  further  away  someone  was  making  coffee — de 
licious  coffee. 

The  girl  for  a  moment  could  not  remember  where 
she  was;  the  room,  with  its  dark-grey  paper  and 
stiff  black-walnut  furniture,  was  foreign-looking,  so 
were  the  coloured  pictures  of  religious  subjects  on 
the  walls.  On  the  chimney-piece  stood  two  blue 
glass  vases  filled  with  dried  grasses,  and  the  lace 
curtains  flaunted  their  stiff  cleanliness  against  other 
wise  unshaded  windows. 

Where  was  she? 

And  then,  as  the  music  broke  off  suddenly,  she 
remembered,  and  smiled  in  delighted  recollection  of 
the  evening  before.  Waking  was  usually  such  a 
bore;  the  thought  of  breakfast,  always  a  severe  test 
to  the  unsociable,  was  horrid  to  her.  There  would 
be  either  a  solitary  meal  in  the  big  dark  dining- 
room,  or  what  was  worse,  guests  to  entertain  (for 


50  THEHALO 

Lady  Kingsmead  never  appeared  until  after  eleven), 
and  the  disagreeable  hurry  and  scurry  contingent  on 
the  catching  of  different  trains.  But  here  she  seemed 
to  have  escaped  from  what  Tommy  called  Morning 
Horrors,  and  it  was  delightful  to  lie  in  her  bed  and 
wonder  what,  in  this  extraordinary  house,  was  likely 
to  happen  next. 

What  did  happen  was,  of  course,  quite  unex 
pected;  the  door  slowly  opened  and  a  small  yellow 
dog  appeared,  a  note  tied  to  his  collar. 

A  mongrel  person,  this  dog,  with  suggestions  of 
various  races  in  him;  his  tail  had  intended  to  be 
long,  but  the  hand  of  heredity  had  evidently  short 
ened  it,  and  the  ears,  long  enough  to  lop,  pricked 
slightly  as  his  bright  eyes  smiled  up  at  the  girl, 
who  laughed  aloud  as  she  took  the  note  he  had 
brought. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  little  monster!  "  she  said  to  him. 
"  I  never  saw  anything  so  yellow  as  you  in  my  life — 
except  Lady  Minturn's  wig.  I  believe  you're 
dyed!" 

The  note,  written  in  a  peculiarly  dashing  hand 
on  thick  mauve  paper,  was  short: 

"  MA  FILLE,"  it  ran,  "  good  morning  to  you — the 
first  of  many  happy  ones  with  us.  Yellow  Dog  Pa- 
pillon  brings  this  to  you.  He  is  an  angel  dog,  and 
loves  you  already,  as  does  your  Victor  Joyselle, 

"  BEAU-PAPA." 

Yellow  Dog  Papillon,  having  come  to  stay,  was 


THE     HALO  51 

sitting  up,  as  if  he  never  under  any  circumstances 
passed  his  time  in  another  way.  His  rough,  pump 
kin-coloured  front  feet  hung  genteelly  limp,  and  his 
tail  slowly  described  a  half  circle  on  the  highly  pol 
ished  floor. 

Brigit  laughed  again,  and  patted  his  head.  "  Does 
he  expect  an  answer?"  she  asked  seriously;  but 
before  the  dog  could  tell  her  what  he  thought  the 
door  opened,  and  Madame  Joyselle  entered,  bear 
ing  a  small  lacquered  tray,  on  which  stood  a  tiny 
coffee-pot,  cup  and  saucer,  plate  and  cream-jug,  of 
gleaming  white  porcelain,  the  edges  of  which  glit 
tered  in  a  narrow  gold  line,  and  a  tall  glass  vase 
containing  a  very  large  and  faultless  gardenia. 

"  I  have  brought  you  your  coffee,  Lady  Brigit/* 
said  the  little  woman,  showing  her  beautiful  teeth 
in  a  cheery  smile,  "  and  'ard-boiled  eggs.  Theo 
told  me  you  like  them  'ard-boiled.  The  gardenia 
is  from  my  'usband." 

Her  English  was  very  bad,  and  the  unusual  exer 
tion  of  speaking  in  the  tongue  which  to  her,  in  spite 
of  twenty-five  years'  residence  in  the  country  of  its 
birth,  still  remained  "  foreign,"  brought  a  pretty 
flush  to  her  brown  cheeks.  "  You  sleep — well?" 

As  she  ate  her  breakfast  Lady  Brigit  studied  this 
simple  woman  who  was  to  be  her  mother-in-law. 
Madame  Joyselle  was,  socially  speaking,  absolutely 
unpresentable,  for  she  had  remained  in  every  respect 
except  that  of  age  v/hat  she  had  been  born — a  Nor 
man  peasant.  She  had  acquired  no  veneer  of  any 
kind,  and  looked,  as  she  stood  with  her  plump  hands 


52  THE     HALO 

folded  contentedly  on  her  apron-band,  much  less  a 
lady  than  Mrs.  Champion,  the  housekeeper  at 
Kingsmead. 

But  one  fault  Brigit  had  not:  she  was  no  snob, 
and  the  least  worthy  thought  roused  in  her  as  she 
contemplated  her  kindly  hostess  was  that  her  mother 
would  be  very  much  annoyed  when  she  met  her 
daughter's  future  mother-in-law. 

"  Such  delicious  coffee,"  she  said  presently,  "  and 
the  rolls!" 

"  Oui,  oui,  pas  mat;  c'est  moi  qui  les  ai  fails.  I 
make  myself " 

As  she  spoke  there  came  a  loud  rap  at  the  door, 
and  Joyselle  put  in  his  head,  crowned  with  a  gold- 
tasselled  red-velvet  cap  of  archaic  shape. 

"  You  permit,  ma  file? "  Without  awaiting  an 
answer  he  came  in,  gorgeous  from  top  to  toe  in 
a  crimson  garment  between  a  dressing-gown  and  a 
smoking-costume,  girdled  round  his  waist  with  a 
gold  cord. 

"  She  eats,  the  most  beautiful !  "  he  cried  joy 
ously,  "  and  petite  mere  and  Yellow  Dog  look  on ! 
Is  it  not  wonderful,  ma  vieille?  " 

Madame  Joyselle  smiled — sensibly.  "  It  is  de 
lightful,  my  man,  delightful.  But  I  fear  you  should 
not  have  come  in — she  may  not  like  it." 

"  Not  like  it?  Of  course  she  does.  Why  should 
not  the  old  beau-papa  visit  his  most  beautiful  while 
she  breakfasts?  You  are  a  goose,  Felicite!  " 

Brigit,  vastly  amused  by  their  discussing  her  as 
if  she  were  not  present,  gave  a  bit  of  roll  to  the  dog. 


THE     HALO  53 

"  A  quaint  little  dog,"  she  observed  to  them 
both. 

Joyselle  laughed.  "  Yes,  yes,  il  est  bien  drole,  ce 
pauvre.  But-ter-fly.  And  the  name,  too,  hein? 
Some  day  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  why  I  have  had 
nine  dogs  all  named  *  But-ter-fly/  There  is  so  much 
to  tell  you,  so  much." 

He  talked  on,  very  rapidly,  changing  subjects 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  child,  using  his  square  brown 
hands  in  vivid  gesture,  marching  about  the  room, 
teasing  the  dog  who,  since  his  master  had  entered, 
had  had  eyes  and  ears  for  none  but  him. 

"  The  concert,  you  know,  yesterday,  was  a  grand 
success.  All  the  papers  are  full  of  it.  Many  play 
the  violin  to-day,  you  see,  but  there  is  only  one 
Joyselle." 

"  There  is  also  a  Kubelik,"  suggested  Brigit  slily, 
to  see  what  he  would  answer. 

"  My  dear,  yes;  there  is  Kubelik,  and  there  is 
Joachim  still,  thank  God.  Chacun  dans  son  genre. 
But  Kubelik  is  a  boy,  and  he  has  *  violin  hands  ' — 
fingers  a  kilometre  long.  Look  at  my  hands,  and 
you  will  see  why  I  am  not  his  equal  in  execution. 
In  other  things " 

He  looked  gravely  at  his  hands  as  he  held  them 
out  to  her.  This  was  in  its  turn  different  from  the 
childlike  vanity  of  a  minute  past;  he  was  a  creature 
of  a  thousand  moods,  each  one  absolutely  sincere. 

Theo,  she  saw,  was  like  his  mother.  From  her 
he  had  his  gentle  voice  and  quiet  ways;  from  his 
father  only  the  splendid  dark  eyes. 


54  THEHALO 

Joyselle  was  a  remarkably  handsome  man  in  his 
somewhat  flamboyant  way,  and  even  the  clear  morn 
ing  light  failed  to  show  lines  in  his  brown  face, 
though  his  silky,  wavy  hair  was  very  grey  about  his 
brow.  He  could  be  compared  to  no  one  Brigit  had 
ever  seen;  he  was,  even  in  his  absurd  velvet  gown, 
head  and  shoulders  above  anyone  she  knew,  temper 
amentally  as  well  as  physically.  He  could,  she  saw, 
go  anywhere,  among  people  of  any  class,  and  find 
there  an  at  least  momentary  niche  for  himself. 
Gentleman?  She  would  not  answer  her  own  mental 
question,  but  great  artist,  man  of  the  world,  good 
fellow,  remarkable  man,  most  certainly. 

'*  Your  hair  is  very  charming,"  he  was  saying  as 
she  came  to  the  above  conclusion;  "  it  seems  to  love 
being  yours — as  what  would  not?  The  hair  of 
many  women  looks  as  though  it  were  trying  hard — 
oh,  so  hard! — to  get  away  from  them;  but  yours 
clings  and — what  is  the  word? — tendrils  round  your 
head  as  if  it  loved  you." 

"  Ordinary  curly  hair,"  she  answered  in  French. 

"  But  no — black  hair  is  usually  dry  and  like  some 
thing  burnt,  or  of  an  oiliness  to  disgust.  Is  it  not 
so,  Felicite — is  her  hair  not  adorable?  " 

" Oui,  omy  Victor;  oui,  mon  homme.  But  we 
must  go,  for  Lady  Brigit  will  be  wishing  to  rise. 
Theo,  too,  awaits  her  downstairs." 

The  big  man,  who  was  crouching  on  the  floor 
playing  with  the  dog,  rose  hastily.  "  Good  God !  " 
he  cried  in  English  words,  but  obviously  in  the  inno 
cent  French  sense,  "  I  quite  forgot  that  unhappy 


THE     HALO  55 

child!      Come,   Felicite;  come  Papillon,   m'ami — let 
us  disturb  Belle- Ange  no  longer." 

As  if  he  had  long  been  struggling  with  their  re 
luctance  to  go,  he  shepherded  them  out  of  the  room, 
singing  as  he  went  downstairs,  "  Salut,  demeure 
chaste  et  pure." 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

THE  parrot,  whose  name  was  Guillaume  le  Con- 
querant,  was  a  magnificent,  fluffy,  grey  bird  picked 
out  with  green.  His  eye  was  knowing,  and  swift  and 
deep  his  infrequent  but  never-to-be-forgotten  bite. 
"  He  is  studying  you — dear,"  explained  Joyselle, 
as  he  stood  before  the  huge  gilt  cage  with  Brigit 
shortly  ?fter  her  appearance  downstairs  that  morn 
ing.  "  It  is  a  severe  test  that  everyone  who  comes 
here  has  to  undergo.  He  is  writing  his  memoirs, 


too." 


"  It  will  be  a  sad  day  for  you,  papa,  when  his 
memoirs  appear,"  put  in  Theo,  who  was  smoking  a 
pipe  and  walking  up  and  down  the  room  just  because 
he  was  much  too  happy  to  sit  still.  "  You  have  yet 
to  see  the  real  Victor  Joyselle,  Brigit.  This  polite 
being  is  the  one  we  keep  for  company." 

Brigit  laughed.  "  Is  it  true?  "  she  asked  the  vio 
linist. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  unexpectedly,  "  you  see  now 
the  happy  Joyselle;  the  Joyselle  pere  de  famille, 
domestic;  the  artist  Joyselle,  alas!  is  an  irritable, 
nervous,  unpleasant  person,  who  forgets  to  eat,  and 
then  abuses  his  wife  for  giving  him  no  dinner;  an 
absent-minded  idiot  who  leaves  his  own  old  coat  at 
the  club  and  goes  off  wrapped  in  the  Marquis  of 
St.  Ive's  sables;  a  swearing,  smoking,  wild-headed 


THE     HALO  57 

person,  who  adores,  nevertheless,  his  little  Theo, 
and  that  little  Theo's  beautiful  fiancee." 

At  the  end  of  this  long  speech  his  face,  which  had 
in  the  middle  of  it  been  sombre  with  a  sense  of  his 
own  iniquity,  suddenly  cleared,  until  a  radiant  smile 
transfigured  it. 

"  My  little  brother  adores  you,  M.  Joyselle,"  said 
Brigit  suddenly;  "  he  will  be  so  pleased.  He  calls 
your  hair  a  halo !  " 

"  A  sad  sinner's  halo,  then.  The  beautiful  saints 
have  others.  And  your  little  brother,  what  is  his 
name?  And  how  old  is  he?" 

"  Tommy  is  his  name,  and  he  is  twelve.  He  is 
music-mad,  and  such  a  dear!  Isn't  he,  Theo?" 

Brigit  had  never  been  so  happy.  It  was  all  like 
a  dream,  these  warm-hearted,  simple-minded  people, 
the  father  and  mother  so  ready  to  love  her  for  the 
son's  sake,  the  mental  atmosphere  so  different  from 
that  to  which  she  was  accustomed.  She  felt  younger 
and,  somehow,  better  than  ever  before.  And  Theo 
would  be  very  helpful  to  Tommy,  and  Tommy's  joy, 
in  hearing  Joyselle  play,  something  very  beautiful. 
She  had  sent  a  wire  to  her  mother  the  night  before 
at  the  station,  but  her  mother  would  not  answer  it, 
and  there  were  at  least  several  hours  between  her 
and  the  moment  when  she  must  leave  Golden. 
Square.  The  very  name  was  beautiful! 

It  was  raining  hard,  and  the  blurred  windows 
seemed  a  kind  of  magic  barrier  between  her  and 
the  tiresome  old  world  outside. 

Then  there  came  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  a  mo- 


58  THE     HALO 

ment  later  Toinon,  the  red-elbowed  maid-of-all- 
work,  appeared,  very  much  alarmed,  carrying  a 
card,  which  she  gave  to  Brigit. 

"Oh,  dear — it  is  poor  Ponty!"  ejaculated  the 
girl,  involuntarily  turning  to  Joyselle. 

"Poor ?" 

"  Lord  Pontefract,  Theo.  Oh,  how  tiresome  of 
mother!  " 

Joyselle  frowned.  "  Do  not  call  your  mother 
tiresome,"  he  said  shortly.  "  But  who  is  this  gen 
tleman?" 

Theo  stood  silently  looking  on.  It  was  plain  that 
it  seemed  to  him  quite  fitting  that  his  father  should 
arrange  the  matter. 

"  Lord  Pontefract — a  friend  of — of  ours,"  stam 
mered  Brigit,  abashed  by  the  reproof  as  she  had 
not  been  abashed  for  years. 

"And  do  you  want  to  see  him?" 

"  No,  no;  I  certainly  do  not  want  to  see  him." 

"  Then  I  will  go  and  tell  him  so." 

"  No,  no.  I — I  had  better  go,  don't  you  think, 
Theo?" 

Poor  Pontefract  seemed  rather  piteous  to  her  as 
he  was  discussed,  and  her  note  had  been  curt  and 
unsympathetic. 

Theo  looked  up  from  his  work  of  filling  his 
pipe. 

"  I  don't  know.    I  should  do  as  papa  says." 

"  No.  I  must  see  him.  I  shall  be  back  in  a 
minute." 

She  ran  downstairs  almost  into  Pontefract's  arms, 


THE     HALO  59 

for  he  had  been  left  in  the  passage  by  the  horrified 
Toinon. 

"  Oh — sorry!"  she  exclaimed.  "Come  in  here, 
will  you?"  "Here"  was  the  unused  "salon"  of 
the  house,  and  in  its  austere  ugliness  would  have  at 
tracted  the  girl's  attention  at  any  other  time.  But 
she  had  now  before  her  something  she  had  never 
seen,  a  perfectly  sober  Pontefract.  And  though  red, 
a  little  puffy,  and  watery  as  to  eye,  the  man 
looked  what  he  was,  an  English  gentleman.  Brigit 
felt  as  though  she  had  returned  to  an  uncongenial 
home  after  a  tour  into  some  strange,  delightful 
country. 

"  I — I  owe  you  an  apology,  I  suppose,"  she  said, 
so  simply  that  he  stared. 

"  No,  you  don't,  Lady  Brigit.  You  wrote  me  a — 
a  very  kind  note.  But  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  recon 
sider.  I — I  am  unhappy." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  he  looked 
at  her  unfalteringly,  and  then  he  went  on  with  a 
certain  dignity:  "I  have — drunk  too  much  of  late 
years,  I  know,  but — I  will  never  do  so  again.  And 
I  think  I  could  make  you  happy." 

"  Did  mother  send  you  here  ?  "  asked  the  girl  sud 
denly. 

"  No;  I  telephoned  her  this  morning  for  your  ad 
dress.  She  would  be  glad — if  you  could  make  up 
your  mind." 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  Lord  Pontefract.  I 
am  going  to  marry  Theo  Joyselle.  And — I  think  I 
am  going  to  be  happy.  I — like  them  all  very  much. 


60  THEHALO 

And,"  holding  out  her  hand,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to 
have  hurt  you." 

As  she  spoke  the  sound  of  music — violin  music — 
came  down  the  stairs.  They  both  started,  for  it  was 
the  Wedding  March  from  "  Lohengrin." 

Brigit's  small  face  went  white  with  anger.  4*  I — • 
am  sorry,"  she  stammered;  "  it  is — ghastly.  It  isn't 
Theo — it  is  his  father.  Oh,  do  go !  " 

Pontefract  nodded.  "  Yes,  I'll  go.  And — never 
mind,  Brigit.  He  doesn't  know,  the  old  chap !  " 

He  left  the  room  hastily,  and  she  ran  upstairs,  her 
hands  clenched. 

It  was  as  she  expected:  Theo  had  left  the  room, 
and  Joyselle  stood  alone  by  the  open  door,  his  face 
radiant  with  malicious  delight.  "Parti,  hein?  I 

thought  he'd What  is  the  matter?"  he  ended 

hastily,  staring  at  her. 

She  went  straight  to  him,  breathing  hard,  her 
brows  nearly  meeting.  "  How  could  you  do  such  a 
thing?  It  was  abominable — hideous!" 

"  What  was  abominable?  " 

"  To  play  that  Wedding  March !  Theo  had  told 
you  about — about  him,  and  you  did  it  to  hurt  him. 
Oh,  how  could  anybody  do  such  a  thing!  " 

Joyselle  put  his  violin  carefully  into  its  case. 

"  You  are  rude,  mademoiselle,"  he  returned 
sternly;  "very  rude  indeed.  But  you  are — my 
guest." 

And  he  left  the  room. 

Brigit's  temper  was  very  violent,  but  she  had  seen 
in  his  set  face  signs  of  one  much  worse  than  her  own, 


THE     HALO  61 

and,  with  the  strange  unexpectedness  that  seemed  to 
characterise  the  man,  his  last  move  was  as  fully  that 
of  a  gentleman  as  his  trick  with  the  Wedding  March 
had  been  shocking. 

He  was  her  host,  and — he  had  left  her  rather  than 
forget  that  fact. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  utterly  at  a 
loss.  What  should  she  do? 

She  was  still  standing  where  he  had  left  her  when 
Madame  Joyselle  came  in,  perfectly  serene,  and 
closed  the  door. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  calmly,  sitting 
down  and  folding  her  hands. 

"  I — M.  Joyselle — hurt  one  of  my  friends — he 
was — rude.  And  then " 

"  C'est  ga.  And  then  you  were  rude.  Never  mind, 
he  will  not  think  of  it  again,  and  neither  must  you." 

Brigit  was  silent,  and  stood  looking  at  le  Con- 
querant.  She  had  been  impolite,  and  Joyselle's  dis 
courtesy  was,  after  all,  more  like  a  bit  of  schoolboy 
malice  than  the  deliberate  insult  of  a  grown  man. 
And  his  dignified  rebuke  to  her  had  set  her  at  once 
on  the  plane  of  a  naughty  child. 

Were  they  both  grown  up,  or  both  children?  Or 
was  he  grown  and  she  a  child,  or  was  she  a  grown-up 
and  he  a  child?  It  was  very  puzzling  and  very  ab 
surd.  She  wanted  to  rage  and  she  wanted  to  laugh. 

She  laughed.  Because  as  she  turned  towards  the 
disinterested  spectator  on  the  sofa,  Joyselle  came  in, 
his  face  bearing  such  a  reflection  of  the  expression 
she  felt  to  be  in  her  own  that  she  could  not  resist. 


62  THEHALO 

"Bon.  It  is  laugh,  then?"  he  cried,  kissing  her 
hands.  "  It  appears  Belle- Ange  has  a  temper,  too ! 
Let  us  forget  all  about  it.  Felicite,  my  dear,  bring  us 
Hydromel,  and  we  will  drink  forgetfulness."  He 
opened  the  door  of  the  cage,  and  William  the  Con 
queror  came  mincing  out,  waddling  on  his  inturned 
toes  like  some  fat,  velvet-clad  dowager. 

Hydromel  is  a  Norman  liqueur,  thick  and  cloying. 
Brigit  loathed  it,  but  could  not  resist  Joyselle,  who, 
the  parrot  on  his  left  wrist,  poured  the  sweet  stuff 
into  little  glasses  and  handed  one  to  her. 

"  Item :  forget  that  we  both  have  bad  tempers," 
he  said,  striking  his  glass  against  hers.  "Item;  re 
member  that  we  are  both  good  in  our  hearts;  item, 
remember  that  father  and  daughter  must  be  patient 
with  each  other." 

As  she  drained  her  glass  Theo  came  in  and  laughed 
as  he  saw  what  they  were  doing. 

UA  reconciliation  already?"  he  cried.  "Papa, 
what  have  you  been  up  to?" 

"  We  have  both  been  correcting  and  being  cor. 
rected.  Bon,  c'est  fini!  " 


CHAPTER    NINE 

"MY  dear  Gerald,  anyone  would  think  /  wanted 
her  to  do  it !  "  Lady  Kingsmead's  voice  was  very 
fretful,  for  Carron  had  done  nothing  but  talk  to  her 
about  Brigit  for  the  last  fortnight,  and  though  she 
knew  that  his  old  love  for  herself  was  dead  and 
buried,  yet  she  enjoyed  having  an  occasional  flower 
of  speech  laid  on  its  grave. 

"  I  really  believe  you  are  in  love  with  her,"  she 
went  on  after  a  pause,  as  he  did  not  answer. 

"Bosh!" 

"  But  it  certainly  looks  like  it.  You  do  nothing 
but  talk  about  her." 

Carron  roused  himself  with  an  effort  from  the 
treadmill  line  of  thought  that  had  tortured  him  ever 
since  Brigit's  engagement.  "  My  dear  Tony,  you  are 
absurd.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  have  never 
loved  any  woman  but  you.  You  have  led  me  a  dog's 
life  for  years;  you  prevented  my  getting  on  in  my 
career,  because  it  amused  you  to  have  me  dangling 
about " 

LADY  K.     Oh,   Gerald,  CARRON   (aloud).     No, 

will  you  ever  forget  that  Tony!      (In  petto)    She 

horrible  winter  when  you  can't  love  the  boy.    That 

went  to  India  ?  much  is  quite  impossible ! 

LADY  K.  The  awful  CARRON  (aloud).  You 
cables  you  used  to  send  were  always  such  an 


THE     HALO 


me?  Heavens,  how  I 
cried  every  night,  Gerry! 
And  how  horrid  Kings- 
mead  was  that  year!  So 
jealous. 

LADY  K.  (reproach 
fully).  That  is  unfair, 
dear.  You  know  I  never 
loved  anyone  but  you ! 


abominable  flirt!  (In 
petto)  If  I  only  knew 
why  she  hates  me  so! 
God!  it's  worse  than 
hatred;  it's  loathing. 

CARRON  (aloud).  But 
you  flirted,  Tony;  yes, 
you  did.  You  nearly 
drove  me  mad  with  jeal 
ousy.  (In  petto)  Hang 
it  all!  how  can  I  get 
away  and  go  for  a  walk? 
This  is  unbearable. 


And  so  on,  and  so  on,  all  the  trlste  canzon.  Lady 
Kingsmead's  boudoir  was  a  charming  room  done  in 
white  and  pale  corn-colour.  There  were  many  books, 
but  Tommy  had  one  day  betrayed  the  limitations  of 
their  field  of  usefulness  by  asking  his  mother  before 
several  people,  "  Mother,  where  do  you  keep  the 
books  you  read?  " 

There  were  many  flowers,  beautiful  Turkey  car 
pets,  shaded  lamps,  overloaded  little  tables  whose 
mission  in  life  appeared  to  be  the  driving  parlour 
maids,  however  reluctant,  to  the  process  of  dusting, 
and,  in  the  darkest  corner,  where  its  faded  gilding 
was  supposed  to  lighten  the  gloom,  a  beautiful  old 
harp.  The  harp  belonged  to  Mr.  Isaacs  in  Baker 
Street,  but  was  supposed  to  have  been  played  by  the 
fair  fingers  of  Lady  Kingsmead's  grandmother. 


THEHALO  65 

The  furniture  and  hangings,  all  new,  belonged  to 
Messrs.  Bampton  in  Piccadilly,  as  did  the  carpets. 
The  pictures,  belonging  to  the  entail,  were  paid  for. 
Lady  Kingsmead  lay  on  a  chaise-longue  and  played 
with  a  Persian  kitten  named  Omar. 

Carron  sat  opposite  her  in  a  low  chair  smoking 
cigarettes.  It  was  just  four  o'clock. 

"I  suppose  she'll  curse  me  out  for  being  here," 
Carron  began  suddenly,  feeling  that  he  deserved, 
after  his  hasty  excursion  into  the  churchyard  of  his 
ancient  love,  a  short  indulgence  in  his  present  feel 
ings;  "  she's  a  good  hater,  that  girl  of  yours." 

"  Yes,  she  has  a  very  nasty  temper.  Now  I,  with 
all  my  faults" — (pause) — "with  all  my  faults, 
never  could  stay  angry  more  than  five  minutes.  Be 
sides,  I  was  always  so  sensitive." 

"  Yes;  oh,  yes!  What  train  does  she  come  by,  did 
you  say?  " 

"  The  4.27.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  and  meet 
her?" 

He  laughed,  his  blue  eyes  narrowing.  "  Thanks, 
no.  And  the  others?  " 

"  Oh,  /  don't  know.  The  list  is  there  at  your 
elbow.  You  are  dull  to-day,  Gerald." 

"  I  know  I  am.  I  think  I'm  in  for  an  attack  of 
flue,  or  something;  feel  shivery  and  all-overish.  And 
I  think  you  might  be  able  to  understand  my  hating 
to  have  your  daughter  make  such  a  horrible  mesal 
liance,  Tony." 

She  was  touched  with  the  pathetic  facility  for  be 
ing  touched  common  to  fading  beauties.  Rising,  she 


66  THE    HALO 

laid  her  pretty  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Poor  darling, 
I  am  sorry  I  was  cross.  It  is  dear  of  you  to  mind. 
I  hated  it,  too,  at  first,  for  poor  old  Ponty  is  a  gentle 
man,  and  he  is  awfully  cut  up.  But  after  all,  it  may 
not  be  a  bad  thing.  She's  a  very  queer  girl,  Gerald, 
not  at  all  easy  to  live  with,  and  this  boy  Joyselle  is 
really  nice.  Besides,  he  has  plenty  of  money " 

"  By  the  way,"  interrupted  Carron,  tossing  the 
kitten  to  a  soft  chair,  "  where  did  he  get  the  money? 
The  fiddling  chap  can't  have  much.  They  say  he's 
a  great  spendthrift " 

"  No,  it  isn't  that.  I  mean  Isabel  Clough-Hardy 
left  it  to  him.  You  remember  the  moley  one  who 
died  in  Egypt?  " 

"  Did  she?  He  must  have  been  a  mere  child  when 
she  died.  You  mean  Hugh  Hislip's  daughter?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  yes,  it  was  years  ago.  They  say  she 
was  in  love  with  Victor  Joyselle  before  she  married." 

"  By  Jove!     Why  didn't  he  marry  her?  " 

"  Because  in  this  unenlightened  land  no  man  is 
allowed  to  have  more  than  one  wife  at  a  time — 
Oh,  Tommy,  what  have  you  been  doing?" 

Kingsmead,  who  had  come  in  without  knocking, 
sat  down  and  stretched  his  thin  legs  over  the  arm  of 
the  chair.  "  Ratting." 

"  Oh,  you  nasty  child !    What  a  beastly  thing !  " 

"  Ratting,  my  dear  mother,  is  a  fine,  manly,  old- 
time  sport.  Most  fellows  of  my  age  and  appearance 
would  be  making  love  to  their  mothers'  friends,  but 
I  bar  women.  Sport,"  he  added  solemnly,  "for 
Thomas  Edward,  Earl  of  Kingsmead." 


THE    HALO  67 

Carron,  who  had  always  disliked  the  boy,  looked 
at  him.  "So  you  bar  women?  Many  other  *  men 
of  your  appearance  '  have  said  the  same." 

It  was  a  nasty  thrust,  but  Tommy,  though  he  felt 
it,  grinned  cheerfully. 

"  Stung!  "  he  cried,  laying  his  hand  on  his  heart 
in  an  absurd  theatrical  gesture.  "  Your  bolt  has 
gone  home,  my  dear  fellow.  But  experience  may 
take  the  place  of  beauty  at  fifty." 

Carron  started.  He  loathed  being  fifty,  he  loathed 
Tommy,  he  loathed  everything. 

Tommy  turned  to  the  kitten  and  talked  artless 
nonsense  to  it  to  fill  up  the  pause  that  followed,  and 
Lady  Kingsmead  powdered  her  nose  with  a  bit  of 
chamois  skin  that  lived  in  a  silver  box  full  of  Fuller's 
.earth  under  the  chaise-longue  pillows. 

"  Glad  Brigit's  coming?  "  asked  Tommy,  turning 
with  appalling  suddenness  to  Carron,  whose  hatred  for 
him  increased  tenfold  as  he  tried  to  answer  carelessly. 

As  he  replied,  Brigit  came  in,  without  a  hat,  but 
covered  from  head  to  foot  with  a  rough  tweed  coat. 
Her  wavy  hair  was  very  wet,  and  her  gloves,  as  she 
pulled  them  off,  dripped  on  the  floor.  In  her  pearly 
pale  cheeks  was  a  lovely  pink  tinge. 

"  What  a  day !  "  she  cried.  "  I  can't  kiss  you, 
mother — how  d'ye  do,  Gerald?  Tommy,  you  angel, 
come  and  be  drowned  in  sister's  fond  embrace !  " 

They  all  stared  at  her.  "  It's  such  a  jolly  rain.  I 
drove  myself  in  the  cart  that  had  gone  for  Mr.  Green. 
Green  came  in  the  brougham,  poor  dear!  Well — 
what  are  you  all  staring  at,  souls?" 


68  THEHALO 

"  You  look  so — so  young,  Bicky,"  answered 
Tommy,  with  an  effort.  "  What  a  good  time  you 
must  have  had !  " 

Having  taken  off  her  coat  and  thrown  her  ruined 
gloves  into  the  fire,  she  sat  down  by  her  brother  and 
put  her  arm  round  him. 

"  Dear  little  boy !  I  am  young,  Thomas,  and  I 
did  have  a  good  time.  He  is  going  to  play  for  you, 
dear — all  you  want  him  to.  He  is  a — a — what  shall 
I  say?"  Her  eyes  crinkled  with  amusement  as  she 
sought  for  a  word.  "  He  really  is  a — ripper,  Tommy. 
And  he  has  a  human  dog  named  Papillon — But-ter- 
fly,"  she  added,  still  smiling  and  obviously  quoting, 
"  also  a  parrot." 

"  And  a  wife,"  put  in  Carron  sharply. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  face  stiffening  into  its  old 
expression  of  surly  hauteur. 

"  You  have  seen  her?  " 

"  No.  But  a  friend  of  mine  has.  Charley  Master- 
son,  Tony.  He  says  she  looks  like  a  clean  old 
peasant." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  she  is — bravo,  Charley 
Masterson!  A  clean  old  peasant.  Joyselle,  too,  is 
a  peasant.  They  come  from  near  Falaise,  and  as  a 
girl  Madame  Joyselle  wore  a  cap.  Is  there  no  tea 
going?" 

Lady  Kingsmead,  who  hated  rows  unless  she  was 
one  of  the  principals,  rang  the  bell. 

"  How  was  Pam3"  she  asked  hastily. 

"  As  nice  as  ever.  They  both  sent  you  their  love, 
by  the  way.  I  had  a  heavenly  week  there,  and  they 


THEHALO  69 

liked  Theo  so  much.  He  came  down  for  the  week 
end.  Oh,  mother,"  she  went  on  as  the  man  who  had 
answered  the  bell  closed  the  door,  "  please  ask  them 
down  soon,  will  you?  The  clean  old  peasant  won't 
come;  she  never  leaves  home,  and  he  is — perfectly 
presentable." 

Lady  Kingsmead  watched  her  daughter  in  amaze 
ment.  Tommy,  as  usual,  was  right;  Brigit  looked, 
and  seemed,  years  younger  than  she  had  done  a  fort 
night  ago. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  Til  write  to-night,"  she  said  with 
the  graciousness  she  used  at  will,  and  that  was  so 
charming.  Then  she  added,  "  I  might  ask  him  when 
the  Duchess  comes.  He  is  sure  to  love  duchesses; 
those  kind  of  people  always  do." 

"  Yes,  and  as  to  duchesses,  those  kind  of  people 
frequently  like  good  music  for  nothing." 

But  there  was  no  bitterness  in  her  tone,  and  mother 
and  daughter  smiled  at  each  other. 


CHAPTER   TEN 

THE  Duchess  did  like  good  music  for  nothing,  and 
when,  a  week  later,  she  was  told  on  her  arrival  that 
Joyselle  was  to  be  of  the  party,  she  was  much  pleased. 
She  was  only  an  ancient  dowager,  full  of  aches  and 
pains  and  sad  and  merry  memories,  but  she  was  a 
great  favourite  nevertheless,  for  her  aches  and  pains 
and  sad  memories  were  kept  safely  in  the  back 
ground,  whereas  her  merry  and  sometimes  somewhat 
shocking  recollections  made  her  the  very  best  of  good 
company. 

"  A  great  man,  my  dear,"  she  told  Lady  Kings- 
mead,  "  one  of  the  finest  artistes  I  ever  heard.  I 
remember  once  in  Petersburg,  heaven  only  knows 
how  many  centuries  ago,  hearing  him  play  before  the 
Czar.  He  was  extraordinarily  handsome  then,  a  tall 
young  fellow — he  can't  be  much  over  forty  now — 
very  broad  and  strong-looking,  with  beautiful  wavy 
brown  hair  and  gorgeous  black  eyes.  The  Grand 
Duchess  Anastasia-Katherine  was  very  much  in  love 
with  him,  and  he  with  her.  She  gave  him  a  rose 
before  everybody — a  red  rose — and  he  kissed  it  quite 
boldly  before  he  put  it  into  his  coat.  A  remarkably 
dashing  young  man !  " 

"  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  my  girl  is  going 
to  marry  his  son?  " 

"Bless  me,  no!     Has  the  creature  a  son?     Men 


THE     HALO  71 

of  that  type  ought  never  to  marry  and  have  sons. 
What  is  he  like,  the  boy?  " 

"  A  delightful  person,  Duchess,  and  we  are  all  so 
pleased  about  it.  I  had  hoped  for  some  time  that 
she  would  take  him — anyone  could  see  how  things 
were  going  with  him — but  she  was  always  so  pecu 
liar,  and  I  rather  feared  at  one  time  that  she  would 
say  no,"  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Lady  Kingsmead 
did  not  know  she  was  lying,  and  the  Duchess,  who 
was  sleepy  and  had  on  a  tight  dress,  did  not  care. 
When  she  had  found  out  who  the  other  guests  were 
to  be,  and  that  dinner  was  at  half-past  eight,  she 
waddled  upstairs,  looking  remarkably  like  Guillaume 
le  Conquerant  in  her  grey  dress,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Lady  Kingsmead  had  a  cup  of  Bovril,  which  she 
had  been  told  was  excellent  for  the  complexion  (al 
though  as  her  complexion  was  always  carefully  con 
cealed  from  the  eye  of  man,  also  from  the  far  more 
piercing  one  of  woman,  it  may  he  asked  why  she  con 
sidered  it).  Then  she  had  her  maid  lock  her  dress 
ing-room  door,  and  give  her  an  hour's  facial  mas 
sage. 

At  seven  Joyselle  arrived,  and  she  was  told  that 
he  had  arrived. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Joyselle  to  come  to  my  boudoir,  Bur 
ton." 

"  Very  good,  my  lady." 

When  Joyselle  was  ushered  in  he  found  a  beautiful 
person  in  a  lacy  white  tea-gown  reading  Maeterlinck 
on  a  satin  chaise-longue. 

He  kissed  her  hand. 


72  THEHALO 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you, 
Lady  Kingsmead,"  he  began  abruptly,  fixing  his  dark 
eyes  on  hers.  "  Our  little  private  correspondence  has, 
I  trust,  been  as  pleasing  to  you  as  it  has  to  me?  " 

"  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  it." 

"  I  am  delighted.  And  they,  the  fiances,  know 
nothing  of  it?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  Monsieur  Joyselle."  Her  lady 
ship  bowed  with  some  dignity  as  she  spoke,  for,  be 
sides  being  a  very  great  artiste,  this  person  with  the 
quiet  air  of  authority  was  also  a  peasant. 

"  As  I  said,  I  rather  doubted  the  wisdom  of  writ 
ing  to  you,  but  Theo  is  a  baby  regarding  money,  and 
as  you,  of  course,  must  consider  the  matter  as  not 
altogether  advantageous  in  the  point  of  birth — for 
we  have  no  birth,  my  wife  and  I,  we  were  just  born," 
— he  smiled  delightfully — "  I  thought  it  only  just  to 
reassure  your " — he  was  on  the  point  of  saying 
"  mother's  heart,"  but  thought  better  of  it,  and  has 
tily  substituted  the  word  "  mind," — "  on  this  point  of 
money.  Theo,  by  the  will  of  my  dear  friend,  Lady 
Isabel  Clough-Hardy,  does  not  come  of  age  until  he 
is  twenty-five,  in  something  less  than  three  years' 
time.  But  you  now  understand  that  I,  as  guardian, 
am  prepared  to  do  all  I  can  for  the  two  dear  chil 
dren." 

He  was  handsome,  the  Duchess  was  right.  And 
he  was  beautifully  dressed.  And  he  would  play  for 
her  guests  after  dinner. 

Lady  Kingsmead  held  out  her  jewelled  hand. 

"  I   am  very  glad  that  it  happened,"   she  said 


THEHALO  73 

sweetly.  "  Theo's  a  dear  boy,  and  seems  to  make  my 
little  girl  very  happy." 

"  Yes,  they  seem  happy.    Ah — is  this  Tommy?  " 

It  was.  A  spick-and-span  Tommy,  with  very  wet 
hair  and  a  nervous  smile;  a  Tommy  with  cold  hands 
and  a  curious  twitching  behind  his  knees.  For  he 
had  come  to  Olympus  to  see  a  god. 

Joyselle  held  out  his  big,  strong  hand  and 
Tommy's  disappeared  in  it.  Thus,  sometimes,  are 
friendships  made. 

"  I  say — you  can  play,"  stammered  the  boy.  "  I 
— it  is  glorious." 

"  You  love  music,  Brigitte  says." 

"  Don't  I  justl    She  says  you'll  play  for  me  some 


time." 


Tommy's  small,  greenish  eyes  were  wet  with  irre 
pressible  tears  of  adoration. 

Joyselle  rose.  "  Come  with  me  to  my  room  now, 
Tommy,  and  I  will  play  for  you.  Vous  permettez, 
madamef  " 

Lady  Kingsmead  bowed  graciously,  but  when  the 
door  closed,  frowned  with  disgust,  and  putting  Maet 
erlinck  on  the  table,  drew  Claudine  from  under  an 
embroidered  pillow  and  began  to  read. 

Tommy,  treading  on  air,  accompanied  Joyselle  to 
his  room,  and  sitting  on  the  floor  as  the  easiest  place 
in  which  to  contain  almost  unbearable  rapture,  lis 
tened. 

Joyselle  as  he  played  recalled  another  little  boy 
who,  years  before,  had  listened  in  much  the  same 
way  to  another  man  playing  the  violin,  and  the  com- 


74  THE     HALO 

parison  is  not  so  far-fetched  as  it  seems,  for  although 
the  blind  fiddler  of  the  sunny  day  in  Normandy  had 
been  only  a  third-rate  scraper  of  the  bow,  and  Joy- 
selle  one  of  the  world's  very  greatest  artists,  yet  in 
one  thing  they  joined  issue.  Each  of  them  gave  to 
the  listening  child  before  him  his  very  best. 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

DINNER  that  night  was  a  very  grand  affair. 
Fledge  inspired  awe  by  his  majestic  mien — Fledge 
liked  duchesses — and  Burton  and  William,  the  re 
cently  promoted,  with  their  heads  striped  with  grease 
and  powder,  looked  to  the  enraptured  eyes  of  the 
female  servants  their  very  best. 

There  were  crimson  roses  in  beautiful  silver  vases 
on  the  table,  and  in  the  centre  stood  a  particularly 
hideous  but  very  valuable  silver  ship — "  given,"  as 
Tommy  once  gravely  explained  to  a  guest,  u  by  some 
body  or  other — a  king,  or  an  admiral,  I  think — to 
one  of  my  ancestors,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  who 
did  something  or  other  rather  well.'* 

Lady  Kingsmead,  under  the  Duchess'  influence, 
was  suffering  from  one  of  her  attacks  of  thinking 
Tommy  *'  quaint,"  so,  by  the  old  lady's  suggestion, 
the  boy  was  allowed  to  sit  at  the  foot  of  his  own 
table,  pretending,  as  he  had  told  his  sister  he  should 
find  it  necessary  to  do,  to  be  as  young  as  his  mother's 
guests. 

The  Duchess,  greatly  diverted  by  his  demeanour, 
and  reinforced  on  her  other  side  by  an  amusing,  sad 
dog  of  thirty,  who  wrote  wicked  novels,  thoroughly 
enjoyed  her  dinner.  There  are  so  many  reasons  for 
enjoying  one's  dinner;  some  people  do  because  they 
like  to  meet  their  fellow-creatures ;  some  because  they 


76  THEHALO 

like  being  seen  at  certain  houses;  some  because  they 
have  beauty  to  display  or  stories  to  tell ;  and  some  be 
cause  they  enjoy  eating  and  drinking  simply  as  eating 
and  drinking.  The  Duchess,  in  that  she  enjoyed 
dining  for  all  the  reasons  above  cited,  except  that  of 
bothering  her  ancient  head  about  whose  house  she 
was  seen  at,  was  extremely  pleased  with  her  enter 
tainment.  She  wagged  her  old  head — white  now, 
quite  frankly,  after  many  years  of  essays  in  difficult 
tints — whispered  to  her  novelist,  and  made  love  to 
Tommy  quite  shamelessly. 

"  You  look  like  an  Eastern  potentate,  you  are  so 
silent  and  serious,"  she  told  him  once.  "  Do  I  bore 
you  so  horribly,  or  is  it  Miss  Letchworth?" 

"  I  am  not  bored  at  all,  Duchess,"  answered  the 
boy  simply;  "  I  am  thinking." 

"  And  what  are  you  thinking  about?  " 

Tommy  hesitated.  Under  her  frivolous  manner 
he  knew  the  Duchess  had  a  heart,  and  very  human 
sympathies. 

u  I  want  to  be  a  violinist,"  he  said  slowly,  after  a 
pause  during  which  the  Duchess,  with  a  little  shriek, 
rescued  her  salad,  which  William  had  pounced 
upon. 

UA  violinist!" 

"Hush!    Please  don't  tell." 

"  Of  course  I'll  not  tell,  but " 

"  Have  you  heard  him  play?  " 

"Joyselle?    Of  course  I  have." 

"  Well?  "  asked  Tommy  in  quiet  triumph.  What 
more  could  anyone  say? 


THEHALO  77 

The  old  woman  smiled  sweetly  at  him.  She,  too, 
had  been  young,  and  remembered.  And  there  was 
in  this  little,  plain  boy  a  certain  strain  of  blood  that 
she  loved;  his  grandmother  had  been  a  Yeoland. 

"So  you  really  love  it  that  much,  do  you?  It 
means  hard  work,  Tommy." 

"  I  know,"  nodded  the  boy  gravely. 

And  his  mother,  seeing  his  gravity,  feared  that  he 
was  not  being  sufficiently  quaint  to  amuse  the  old 
lady,  and  screamed  down  the  table  at  him  to  tell  the 
Duchess  the  story  of  the  jibbing  pony  at  the  Iris'h 
race  meeting.  The  story  was  not  told. 

On  her  right  hand  Lady  Kingsmead  had  the  local 
M.F.H.,  a  dull  man  with  his  head  full  of  hounds,  as 
she  expressed  it.  But  on  her  left  sat  Joyselle,  and  as 
a  guest  he  was  certainly  perfect.  Lady  Kingsmead 
in  pale  pink  and  pearls  was  good  enough  to  look  at, 
and  feeling  that  she  wished  to  be  made  love  to,  he 
made  love  to  her,  as  was  his  duty.  And  he  did  it 
well,  for  he  was  an  artist.  He  was  not  conspicuous, 
or  over-impassioned,  or  over-adoring  (very  few 
women  like  unmixed  adoration),  but  he  was  amus 
ing,  a  trifle  outrageous,  admiring,  and  tactful.  He 
was  also  amazingly  handsome. 

Down  to  her  left  Lady  Kingsmead  could  see  Car- 
ron  being  bored  to  death  by  the  wife  of  the  M.F.H., 
who,  someone  said,  if  he  had  his  head  full  of  hounds 
and  foxes,  certainly  had  hers  full  of  coals  and  blan 
kets.  For  the  vicar  was  a  bachelor,  and  poor  Lady 
Brinsley  hated  hounds  and  foxes,  and  really  loved 
helping  the  poor.  And  being  of  the  simple-minded 


78  THE     HALO 

who  talk  to  strangers  out  of  the  fulness  of  their 
hearts,  she  was  telling  him  sadly  of  the  shameful  way 
in  which  the  coal-dealer  had  cheated  poor,  dear  Mr. 
Smith. 

Mentally  damning  poor,  dear  Mr.  Smith  and  his 
friend,  as  well  as  the  whole  race  of  coal-dealers, 
Carron  watched  Brigit  as  she  talked  to  Theo  and 
her  other  neighbour,  Pat  Yelverton,  who  watched 
her  in  quite  evident  surprise. 

"  May  I  be  rude  and  make  a  personal  remark?  " 
he  asked  her  presently.  She  smiled.  "  Yes."  Yelver 
ton  hesitated,  and  then  said  slowly:  "You  have 
changed  wonderfully  since  I  last  saw  you,  Lady 
Brigit." 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  not  so  disagreeable?  " 

«  I  mean " 

"  I  know.  And  you  are  right,  Mr.  Yelverton.  I 
was  very  horrid,  and  now  I  am — nicer — because  I 
am  very  happy.  It's  a  selfish  reason,  but  I  hope  I  can 
use  it  as — as  a  kind  of  means  to  a  good  end." 

Yelverton  held  his  breath.  Was  it  possible  that 
the  mere  fact  of  being  engaged  to  a  sweet-natured 
youth  like  Theo  Joyselle  could  cause  such  a  miracle 
as  this  before  his  eyes?  What  was  the  boy  to  change 
Brigit  from  a  sullen,  caustic  woman  into  a  charming, 
lovely  young  girl? 

"  I  am  very  glad  for  you,"  he  said  presently,  "  and 
for  him.  I'm  a  sorry  old  stager,  Lady  Brigit,  but  it 
is  good  to  see  two  young  things  like  you  and  Joyselle 
find  each  other — in  time." 

As  so  often  happens,  his  mood  was  answering  hers, 


THEHALO  79 

and  she  remembered  some  story  she  had  heard  long 
ago  about  him  and  some  girl  who  had  drowned  her 
self. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  very  gently,  and  turned  to 
Theo,  for  she  had  a  manlike  fear  of  intruding  on 
people's  secrets.  But  Yelverton  was  one  of  those 
unfortunate  beings  who,  when  they  turn  to  their  sen 
timental  past,  must  turn  not  to  the  memory  of  one 
face,  but  to  a  kind  of  romantic  mosaic  of  many 
faces  that  in  time  takes  on  the  horrid  semblance  of  a 
composite  photograph.  So  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the 
sad  little  story  of  the  girl  who  drowned  herself  be 
cause  he  who  loved  her,  made  casual  and,  so  to 
speak,  duty-love  to  a  married  woman,  had  not 
occurred  to  him,  as  Brigit  in  her  new-found  kind 
liness  of  supposition,  took  for  granted. 

It  was  a  wonderful  dinner  to  the  girl;  wonderful 
in  the  indulgence  that  had  come  over  her  regarding 
her  convives,  and  in  the  interesting  things  she  found 
it  possible  to  glean  from  the  snatches  of  talk  she 
caught  from  time  to  time.  Alert,  bright-eyed,  an 
unwonted  smile  ever  hovering  on  her  mouth,  she 
listened,  and  young  Joyselle  watched  her  in  a  fearful 
ecstasy  of  joy. 

He  felt,  in  his  innocent  youth,  so  old,  so  wicked, 
so  world-worn  for  this  radiant  angel  who  had  given 
herself  to  him.  It  was  too  good  to  be  true,  and  he 
trembled  at  the  thought.  But  after  dinner,  when  he 
had  at  last  been  able  to  fly  to  the  drawing-room,  the 
Duchess  had  a  beautiful  word  to  say  to  him.  "  Mr. 
Joyselle,"  the  old  woman  began  abruptly,  beckoning 


8o  THEHALO 

to  him,  "  come  here  for  a  second,  I  want  to  con 
gratulate  you." 

"Thank  you,  Duchess.  I — I  am  indeed  to  be 
congratulated,  for  she  is  the  most  perfect " 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,  I  don't  mean  that  at  all !  I  mean  I 
want  to  congratulate  you  on  what  you  have  been 
able  to  do  for  her  in  so  short  a  time." 

"I?  To  do  for  her?"  He  was  honestly  puz 
zled. 

"  Yes,  you.  Do  you  suppose  she  has  always  been 
what  she  is  now?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  last  time  I 
saw  Brigit  Mead — it  was  at  Ascot — she  was  a  very 
good-looking,  of  course — oh,  unbelievably  beautiful, 
if  you  prefer  it,  but  an  ill-tempered,  black-faced 
young  minx,  who  should  have  been  put  on  bread  and 
water  for  a  month  to  correct  her  manner." 

"  Her  manners !  "  shouted  Theo,  unable  to  believe 
his  ears. 

"  No.  Her  manners  were  always  all  right,  but  her 
manner  was  atrocious.  And  you  have  made  her  most 
delightful,  as  well  as  ten  times  lovelier  than  I  would 
have  thought  possible.  There,  now,  you  may  go  to 
her."  And  Theo  wasted  no  time. 

"Love  is  a  strange  thing,  isn't  it?"  went  on  the 
old  woman  to  her  neighbour,  without  looking  to  see 
who  he  was,  for  it  is  a  remark  that  may  safely  be 
addressed  to  anybody. 

"  It  is  a  damnable  thing,"  growled  the  afflicted 
Carron,  for  it  was  he  who  chanced,  for  his  sins,  to 
have  paused  just  then  under  the  pretence  of  lighting 
a  cigarette. 


THE     HALO  81 

"  Exactly,"  assented  the  Duchess  briskly.  "  It  has 
led  you  an  awful  life,  Gerald,  hasn't  it?  " 

"  The  absurdity  of  calling  that  boy's  feelings  for 
Brigit  by  the  same  word  that  must  express " 

"Yours  for  her  mother,  eh?  Go  away,  you  im 
moral  thing!  " 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THERE  was  to  be  no  Bridge  that  evening,  and  by 
unspoken  consent  everyone  sat  in  the  hall.  It  was  a 
cold  night,  and  the  roaring  fire  was  pleasant  to  hear, 
and  in  the  expressive  slang  of  the  time,  "  things 


went." 


Everyone  was  amused;  for  the  time  being,  the 
bores  had  ceased  from  boring,  and  the  bored  were 
at  rest.  Brigit,  who  loved  to  look  into  wet  and  be 
dry,  to  look  into  cold  and  be  warm,  sat  in  the  one 
plain  glass  window  in  the  place  (its  coloured  prede 
cessor  had  been  broken  by  a  Roundhead  cannon-ball 
and  for  vainglorious  Family  Reasons  never  been  re 
placed),  so  that  she  could  look  alternately  into  the 
storm  and  at  the  comfortable,  cheery  scene  within. 

She  wore  white,  and  in  her  hair  a  tiny  wreath  of 
green  enamel  bay-leaves.  And  to  her  beauty  was, 
as  the  Duchess  had  so  plainly  felt,  added  the  great 
graces  of  good  humour  and  simplicity. 

"  After  all,"  thought  the  wise  old  lady,  watching 
her,  "  all  happy  women  are  simple." 

Tommy,  big  with  his  splendid  secret,  roamed 
about  the  room,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  chin 
poked  up  thoughtfully. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  be  an  earl  if  one  wanted  to 
rule  one's  mother  and  get  one's  own  way  generally, 
but  when  one'Wants  to  be  a  violinist,  then  an  earldom 


THEHALO  83 

is  distinctly  a  bore.  He  had  never  heard  of  a  British 
peer  who  at  the  same  time  was  a  great  musician,  but 
which  of  the  two  positions  precluded  the  other  he 
could  not  decide. 

He  wished,  naturally,  to  begin  work  at  once.  He 
would  have  to  have  a  serious  talk  with  his  mother 
to-night.  If  these  people  ever  went  to  bed! 

Bicky  looked  heavenly  to-night.  My  word!  what 
a  sister  for  any  fellow  to  have ! 

And  Joyselle — he  was  far  too  great  a  person  to  be 
"  Mistered."  Fancy  Mr.  Beethoven,  or  Mr.  Fade- 
rewski !  Joyselle  the  Great  and  Glorious  would  help 
him.  The  mater  appeared  to  like  him.  It  was 
strange,  for  she  had  been  in  a  terrible  rage  the  first 
day  or  two — but  she  certainly  was  as  pleased  as 
Funch  now. 

Joyselle  had  crossed  the  room  and  was  sitting  by 
Bicky  now.  By  Jove,  he  was  patting  her  hand !  And 
before  everybody! 

Suddenly  he  rose,  she  smiled  up  into  his  dark  face, 
and  he  called  Tommy. 

"  Tommy,  will  you  go  to  my  room  and  bring  me 
my  Amati?  " 

Why  Tommy  did  not  then  and  there  burst  with 
joy,  that  enraptured  little  boy  never  knew.  When  he 
put  the  violin  into  the  master's  hand  the  child  trem 
bled  so  that  the  master  saw  it.  "  When  I  have  played 
one  thing,  you  are  to  go  to  bed,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  You  are  tired." 

And  the  spoiled  and  headstrong  Tommy,  he  whose 
word  was  law  to  his  mother  and  many  other  people, 


84  THEHALO 

nodded  obediently.  "  I  will  play  again  for  you  alone 
to-morrow,"  added  Joyselle. 

Then  he  went  and  stood  near  the  fire,  the  red  light 
flashing  on  him,  and'played. 

The  first  thing,  plainly  for  Tommy,  was  a  Nor 
man  cradle-song,  very  slow  and  monotonous,  and  full 
of  strange  harmonies.  When  it  was  over,  Tommy 
quietly  withdrew.  To-morrow  was  to  be  his  day. 

Brigit  Mead  had  stayed  at  the  house  in  Golden 
Square  for  a  full  week,  and  during  that  week  she  had 
heard  her  future  father-in-law  play  a  dozen  times  or 
more. 

He  had  played  in  the  crimson  velvet  dressing- 
gown,  in  morning  clothes,  in  evening  dress,  once  even 
in  the  fur-lined  coat.  Yet  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she 
watched  and  listened  now,  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
house  of  her  fathers,  that  she  had  never  heard  quite 
this  same  man  play. 

At  home  he  had  been  "  Beau-papa,"  noisy  and 
demonstrative,  or  solemn  with  artistic  responsibility 
and  reverence,  but  always  the  oldish  man  playing  to 
his  family.  Now,  in  some  way,  he  was  metamor 
phosed.  He  was  now  "Joyselle";  he  was,  as  she 
listened  and  watched,  an  unusually  handsome,  not 
yet  middle-aged  gentleman,  playing  the  violin  as  an 
artist,  but  indisputably  a  gentleman. 

She  recalled,  with  a  shudder,  his  awful  lack  of 
taste  displayed  the  day  Pontefract  called;  she  remem 
bered  her  amusement  on  his  insisting  on  wearing  a 
pale  blue  satin  tie  one  day  when  he  was  lunching  at  a 
club  to  meet  a  great  pianist,  and  Theo's  subsequent 


THE     HALO  85 

search  among  his  belongings  for  other  similar  hor 
rors. 

She  remembered  his  over-loud  laugh  and  his  too- 
ready  gesture.  She  smiled,  however,  as  she  told 
herself  that  he  was  a  peasant. 

As  she  listened,  her  love  for  music  quite  subor 
dinated  to  her  strange  interest  in  the  mere  man, 
Theo  leant  forward  and  whispered  quietly:  "  Brigit, 
do  you  really  care  a  little  for  me?  " 

"  Yes."  She  smiled  affectionately  at  him,  for  was 
it  not  he  who  made  her  so  happy? 

And  then  the  poor  girl  drew  a  long,  shuddering 
breath,  and  leant  back  behind  the  curtain,  for  she 
had  suddenly  realised  that  it  was  not  Theo  who  made 
her  happy.  It  was  the  fact  that  he  was  Victor  Joy- 
selle's  son. 

And  it  was  the  big  man  with  the  violin  who — who 
— who  made  her  happy. 

It  was  a  miserable  end  to  her  childish  dream  of 
felicity,  for  she  was  brave  enough  to  admit  to  herself 
without  the  least  hesitation  what  it  was  that  had 
happened. 

And  when  Joyselle  at  length  stopped  playing  and 
came  back  to  sit  by  her,  she  smiled  at  him  in  very 
good  imitation  of  her  own  smile  of  half  an  hour 
before. 

But  he  was  not  satisfied. 

"  You  did  not  like  it?  "  he  asked  simply. 

"  Of  course  I  did — it  was  splendid." 

a  Yet  I  could  not  hold  you,"  he  persisted,  his  van 
ity  evidently  a  little  hurt.  He  could  not  hold  herl 


86  THE     HALO 

"  Didn't  we  like  it,  Theo?  "  she  urged,  turning  to 
the  young  man. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't  hear  a  note,"  he  ad 
mitted,  not  in  the  least  shamefacedly.  "  I  was  look 
ing  at  you." 

"  Lucky  young  beggar,"  laughed  Joyselle,  "  small 
wonder !  You  two  make  a  very  pleasant  picture,"  he 
added,  "  and  in  a  year  or  two " 

"  Father,"  protested  Theo,  blushing  scarlet  in 
quick  French  sympathy  for  the  strange  susceptibil 
ities  of  his  English  fiancee,  "  don't !  " 

Brigit  rose  slowly.  "  I  must  go  and  say  good 
night  to  Tommy,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  be  down  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Tommy  was  in  bed,  reading  a  very  large  book  by 
the  light  of  an  electric  lamp. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  his  sister  asked, 
lying  down  by  him  and  pressing  her  face  to  the  cool 
pillow. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  just  thought  I  ought  to  know 
something  about — Amatls.  It's  very  interesting," 
he  returned  solemnly,  and  then  burst  out:  "  Oh, 
Bick,  isn't  he  simply  glorious!  " 

"  Yes,  Tommy." 

"  There  was  never  anyone  like  him.  Not  only  the 
fiddling,  but — everything.  Don't  you  think  so? 
Don't  you,  Bicky?"  he  persisted  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  Tommy,  dear." 

"  I  do  think  you  the  luckiest  girl  in  the  whole 
world.  Just  fancy  being  his  daughter." 

"  Yes,  Tommy." 


THEHALO  87 

Her  head  whirled,  her  heart  beat  hard,  her  hands 
were  as  cold  as  ice.  This,  she  told  herself,  was  the 
plunge;  it  would  be  better  shortly.  And  when  it 
was  better,  then  she  could  begin  to  fight.  For  she 
would  fight.  It  was  a  monstrous  thing,  a  nightmare, 
and  she  would  fight  it  down. 

"  Brigit." 

"  Yes,  Tommy?  "  With  an  effort  she  roused  her 
self  and  sat  up. 

Tommy  had  closed  the  book  and  put  it  away.  He 
now  sat  hunched  in  bed,  his  thin  arms  in  their  pale 
blue  sleeves  clasping  his  knees.  "  Brigit,  do  you 
think  a  peer  could  ever  be  a  really  great  violinist?  " 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

A  SLEEPLESS  night  is  always  a  bad  thing,  but  it 
is  full  of  horror  when  its  victim  is  haunted  by  an 
ever-recurring  thought. 

Brigit  Mead  went  to  her  room,  dismissed  what  her 
brother  called  her  half  of  Amelie,  the  French  maid, 
put  on  a  dressing-gown,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire  to 
think. 

Her  room  was  very  exposed,  and  the  wind  howled 
dismally  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  while  the 
rain  fell  in  violent  gusts  against  the  ancient  panes. 
It  was  a  comfort  to  hear  the  storm,  for  it  made  the 
fire  welcome,  and  a  fire  is  comforting. 

The  girl  huddled  close  to  it,  and  according  to  her 
wont  began  uttering  her  thoughts  in  a  whisper. 

"  It  is  that.  There's  no  doubt.  And  that  is  why 
I  was  so  happy.  He  doesn't  know,  that's  one  com 
fort.  Only — what  on  earth  am  I  to  do?  I  wonder 
if  it  will  get  worse  or  better,  the  more  I  see  him? 
If  only  he  would  make  some  more  horrible  blunders, 
or — or  what?  It  isn't  what  he  does,  it's  what  he  is. 
It  isn't  even  the  playing.  I  barely  heard  him  tor 
night.  And  Theo* — pot>r  Theo!  He  must  never 
suspect.  But  then,  he  never  would,  unless  I  shouted 
it  in  his  ear!  " 

She  paused  and  put  another  log  on  the  fire. 

"He  will,  though,  unless  I  am  very  careful,     He 


THEHALO  89 

isn't  old  at  all,  forty-two  is  young  nowadays,  and  I'm. 
sure  he  likes  women.  I  daresay,  if  I  hadn't  been 
engaged  to  Theo,  he  would  have  liked  me.  Most  of 
'em  do.  And  I  never  looked  better  in  my  life  than 
I  looked  to-night.  Vain  beast!  " 

Presently  she  got  up,  and  roamed  aimlessly  about 
the  room.  The  door  leading  into  her  little  sitting- 
room  was  open,  and  she  went  in  and  switched  on  the 
light.  "  He  wants  to  come  in  here  to-morrow,  and 
see  where  I  live.  Live!  He  wants  to  see  my  books. 
I'll  hide  those  French  ones;  they'd  shock  Beau- 
papa,  I  suppose,  though  they  aren't  very  bad.  But 
what  am  I  to  do?  Can  I  go  on  being  engaged — 
can  I  marry  Theo  while  I — love  his  father?  Would 
marrying  Theo  cure  me,  or  make  it  worse?  And 
suppose  he  fell  in  love  with  me  after  we  were  mar 
ried  !  And  she — Gerald's  '  clean  old  peasant/ 
wouldn't  she  be  horrified?  Poor  old  thing,  she  is 
very  nice,  but — and  Tommy  wanting  to  be  a  violin 
ist  !  A  nice  family  party,  upon  my  word !  " 

She  laughed  harshly  and  pulled  her  dressing-gown 
closer  about  her.  It  was  cold  in  here. 

"  I  suppose  I'd  better  tell  Theo  the  truth — or,  no, 
just  that  I've  changed  my  mind.  No,  I  can't  do  that, 
for  I'd  never  see  him  again.  I  want  to  see  him; 
there's  no  danger;  he'll  never  suspect  me." 

Up  and  down  the  two  rooms  she  paced,  her  two 
long  black  plaits  hanging  over  her  shoulders  and 
accentuating  the  red-Indian  character  of  her  face. 
"  How  Gerald  would  gloat!  "  she  thought  suddenly, 
clenching  her  hands.  "  The  beast!  " 


90  THEHALO 

The  stable  clock  struck  one.  She  had  thought 
that  wretched  old  Duchess  would  never  want  to  go 
to  bed. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  Pam.  According  to  the 
Duchess,  Pam  is  a  mine  of  wisdom.  But  I  know 
what  she  did  about  that  Peele  man,  and  I  haven't 
the  courage  to  do  that.  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  see 
Theo?  Then  I'd  have  married  Ponty,  and — what's 
that?  "  Wheeling  fiercely,  she  faced  the  door  lead 
ing  from  her  sitting-room  into  the  passage.  It 
opened  noiselessly  and  Carron  came  in,  dressed  as 
she  had  last  seen  him.  "  Hush !  don't  be  frightened, 
Brigit.  I  saw  your  light  and " 

"  Well — and?  "  She  looked  as  if  she  were  about 
to  spring  at  his  throat,  and  he  closed  the  door  quietly 
and  entered  her  bedroom. 

"  My  good  child,  don't  be  melodramatic !  I  only 
wanted  to  tell  you  that — that  I  am  sorry  I  was  rude 
to  you  the  day  you  left " 

"  Rude,  were  you  ?  I  had  quite  forgotten  it.  Now 
go!" 

"  No,  thanks.  I  will  sit  down  for  a  moment. 
Brigit,  you  are  a  very  foolish  woman.  Hush,  I  will 
tell  you  why.  Firstly,  because  you  are  going  to  marry 
the  son  of  that  musical  mountebank;  and  secondly, 
because  you  seem  bound  to  make  an  enemy  of  me." 

"Threats?" 

She  stood  looking  down  at  him  with  a  smile  as 
disagreeable,  though  not  as  evil,  as  his  own.  "  Don't 
you  be  melodramatic !  And  please  go.  If  you  don't, 
I'll  ring  for  Amelie." 


THE     HALO  91 

"  I  don't  mind." 

And  she  knew  that  he  did  not.  She,  on  the  other 
hand  did,  for  she  had  always  disliked  and  distrusted 
the  Frenchwoman.  "  If  you  prefer  one  of  the 
men?" 

"  They  won't  hear  you ;  men-servants  never  do. 
And,  besides,  I'm  going  in  a  minute.  Listen,  Brigit; 
you  have,  during  the  past  year,  done  everything  you 
could  to  hurt  me.  Do  you  think  it's  fair,  all  things 
considered?  " 

"  Fair  or  unfair,  your — attentions  annoy  me." 

"  Well — your  attitude  annoys  me,  and  unless  you 
change  it,  I'll — get  even  with  you.  Now,  there's 
plain  English  for  you."  He  rose.  "  That's  all  I 
wanted  to  say.  Rather  pretty,  your  room." 

"  Very  good,"  she  sneered.  "  In  the  language  ofr 
your  favourite  branch  of  dramatic  art,  4  do  your 
worst.'  " 

"  And  you  intend  to  continue  to  torture  me  till — • 
till  I  can't  bear  it?  "  His  face  whitened,  and  there 
was  real  agony  in  his  voice.  After  all,  he  was  suf 
fering  too,  and  suddenly,  for  the  first  time,  she  pitied 
him. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Gerald,"  she  said,  bending  towards 
him  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I " 

"  Hush  I  "  reaching  out  his  hand  he  switched  off 
the  light,  for  they  had  both  heard  slow  footsteps 
coming  softly  down  the  passage. 

The  room  was  dark  now  but  for  the  fire  which  had 
died  down,  and  luckily  they  stood  in  the  shadow. 
The  soft  footsteps,  heavy,  though  they  would  have 


92  THE     HALO 

been  noiseless  at  any  other  hour  than  this  most  quiet 
one,  approached  slowly  and  deliberately.  Instinc 
tively  the  girl  clung  to  the  man,  and  he  put  his  arms 
round  her  for  the  first  time  since  she  was  a  little  child. 
Even  in  their  mutual  fright  she  felt  his  heart  give  a 
wild  throb. 

Then  the  door  opened  gently  and  on  the  threshold 
appeared — Tommy,  sound  asleep,  hugging  to  his 
unconscious  breast  the  volume  of  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,  in  which  he  had  been  reading  about  the 
Amati. 

Slowly  the  boy  crossed  the  room  and  disappeared 
into  the  sitting-room. 

"  Go,"  whispered  Brigit,  desperately;  "  he  mustn't 
be  waked  up — go  this  way " 

But  Carron  had  lost  his  head,  and  kissed  her, 
breathlessly,  hungrily,  and  then,  just  as  the  little  blue- 
clad  figure  again  appeared  in  the  one  doorway,  he 
disappeared  by  the  other. 

The  girl  stood  quite  still,  not  daring  to  scream,  so 
angry  that  only  the  unconscious  presence  of  Tommy 
prevented  her  rushing  after  the  man  she  hated,  to 
try  to  kill  him  with  her  two  hands. 

And  Tommy,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  made 
his  slow  way  back  to  his  room  and  to  bed.  When 
she  had  tucked  him  up  in  safety  she  went  to  her 
mother's  room. 

"  Sorry  to  wake  you,  mother,"  she  said,  her  voice 
shaky,  "but  might  I  sleep  with  you?  I  have  had 
such  a  bad  dream  and  am  nervous." 

Lady  Kingsmead  luckily  liked  to  have  her  vanity 


THEHALO  93 

played  upon  by  such  requests.  It  pleased  her  to  have 
her  daughter  turn  to  her.  "  Of  course,  darling,"  she 
said  sleepily. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

was  late  for  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
and  when  he  came  in  found  Brigit  sitting  in  her 
mother's  place,  laughing  and  talking  with  Sir  Henry 
Brinsley,  who,  much  pleased  by  the  manner  in  which 
his  dull  and  endless  stories  were  received,  subse 
quently  declared  that  it  was  all  rot  calling  that  hand 
some  girl  of  Lady  Kingsmead's  dull;  very  intelligent 
girl  indeed,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 

But  for  all  her  composure,  Brigit  never  quite  lost 
her  that-morning-conceived  hatred  of  people  who 
have  two  goes  at  ham  and  eggs;  and  an  infantile 
remark  of  Tommy's  that  eggs  should  be  eaten  only 
out  of  the  shell,  because  they  "  bled  all  over  the 
plate,"  recurred  to  her  again  and  again  as  she 
watched  the  worthy  baronet  satisfy  his  enormous 
appetite. 

"Mornin',  Brigit."  "Morning,  Gerald."  She 
nodded,  and  he  went  to  a  side  table  for  some  fish. 

Theo,  who  sat  opposite  Brigit  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  his  father  had  insisted  on  sitting  by  her, 
took  some  marmalade.  "  What  are  we  to  do  this 
morning?  "  he  asked. 

She  frowned  with  sudden  impatience.  It  was  a  hor 
rible  question.  Would  he  always  ask  it  at  breakfast? 

Then  she  smiled  at  him,  for  his  fresh  happy  face 
was  good  to  look  at.  "  Oh,  nothing — or  anything 
you  like.  Why?" 


THE     HALO  95 

"  Because  I  thought  it  might  be  well,  if  you  can 
spare  the  time,  to  take  papa  for  a  spin  in  the  motor. 
He  did  not  sleep  well." 

She  turned  to  Joyselle.  "  It  is  true.  I  am  one  of 
the  best  sleepers  in  the  world,  but  last  night  I  had  a 
bad  dream,  and  it  got  on  my  nerves  and  I  lay  awake 
for  nearly  two  hours."  He  spoke  with  an  air  of  only 
half-amused  grievance. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  murmured  perfunctorily,  rising 
to  shake  hands  with  Miss  Letchworth,  whom  she  had 
always  disliked  as  being  one  of  those  people  who  are 
jocund  in  the  morning.  Then,  as  Yelverton  pro 
ceeded  to  provide  food  for  the  unfortunate  jocund 
one  (who  was  really  as  inclined  to  matutinal  depres 
sion  as  any  of  her  betters,  but  considered  it  her  duty 
to  be  "cheery"),  Brigit  realised  that  she  was  not 
sorry  Joyselle  had  slept  badly;  she  was  glad. 

"  My  dream,  Brigitte,"  he  went  on,  his  thought 
answering  hers,  "  was  about  you.  You  were  so  un 
happy,  poor  child,  and  I  was  trying  to  help  you,  but 
could  not  reach  you.  It  was  very  dreadful,  for  I 
could  hear  you  call  to  me." 

"  How — pathetic,"  she  answered,  with  stiffening 
lips.  "  But — would  you  like  to  go  motoring?  "  He 
nodded  delightedly,  for  his  mouth  was  full  of  toast. 

"  I  love  it,"  he  went  on,  a  moment  later,  "  I  love 
to  go  fast,  fast,  fast.  It  is  wonderful.  What  is  your 
car?" 

"  It  is  mother's;  nothing  very  remarkable  in  the 
way  of  speed,  I  fear.  Would  you  care  to  go  for  a 
drive,  Lady  Brinsley?  " 


96  THEHALO 

But  Lady  Brinsley  had  letters  to  write,  and  no  one 
else  volunteering  for  the  excursion,  half-past  eleven 
found  Brigit  and  Joyselle  in  the  tonneau  of  the  car, 
and  Theo  sitting  with  the  chauffeur. 

"  Go  to  Kletchley,  Hubbard." 

It  was  a  cold,  grey  day,  with  a  steely  sky  and  a 
wind  that  threatened  to  be  high  later  on.  Brigit's 
cap  was  tied  on  firmly  with  a  strong  green  veil,  but 
she  wore  nothing  over  her  face,  and  the  chill  air  made 
her  feel  better.  She  had  not  slept  at  all,  and  was 
tired,  although  nothing  in  her  aspect  betrayed  the 
fact.  All  night  her  mind  had  been  busy  with  its  new 
found  problem,  and  the  unusual  presence  of  her 
mother  had  made  her  very  nervous.  But — she  had 
not  dared  return  to  her  room,  for  fear  of  finding 
Carron  there. 

If  only  she  had  had  a  father 

"  Vous  etes  troublee,  ma  file,"  said  Joyselle,  sud-. 
denly  taking  one  of  her  hands  in  his  befurred  ones; 
"  what  has  happened?  Can  you  not  think  of  me  as 
your  old  papa,  and  tell  me?  " 

She  started,  half-frightened,  half  angry.  "  I  am 
not  troubled,  M.  Joyselle,"  she  returned,  in  French. 
"  I — have  a  headache,  that  is  all." 

Oh,  time-honoured  evasion;  oh,  classic  lie,  thou 
who  hast  served,  surely,  since  Eve's  day,  used  without 
doubt  by  Helen  of  Troy,  Cleopatra  and  all  the  other 
unsaintly  women,  ancient  and  modern,  whose  stories 
are  so  much  more  entertaining  than  those  of  the 
unco'  guid — oh,  Splendid  Mendax,  where  should  we 
all  be  without  you? 


THEHALO  97 

"  A  headache?  "  Joyselle's  magnificent  eyes  looked 
kindly  but  searchingly  into  hers.  "  No.  Not  that." 
Then,  asking  no  further  question,  he  leaned  back  in 
his  place  and  looked  out  over  the  fields  on  his  left. 

"  Daughter — father — child — old  man — "  she  told 
herself  with  set  jaw,  "  that  is  what  he  thinks.  He  is 
eight  years  younger  than  that  brute  Gerald,  too." 

The  road  climbed  dully  up  for  half  an  hour,  and 
then  with  a  quick  turn  stretched  out  over  splendid 
downs,  beyond  which  lay  a  narrow  glittering  strip  of 
grey  sea.  "  There  is  the  sea,"  announced  Brigit,  per 
functorily.  It  was  not  intrinsically  beautiful,  the 
scene,  but  as  some  chord  in  the  human  breast  almost 
invariably  vibrates  in  response  to  a  view  of  salt  water, 
this  point  was  considered,  at  Kingsmead,  to  be  a  par 
ticularly  important  one,  and  as  the  motor  flew  on 
Brigit  Mead  wondered  how  many  hundred  times  she 
had  brought  people  there  with  the  same  curt  intro 
duction,  u  There  is  the  sea." 

Theo,  perfectly  happy,  turned  occasionally  to  look 
at  the  other  two,  but  spoke  little.  It  filled  him  with 
joy  to  see  his  beloved  and  his  father  together,  and 
his  engagement  was  still  so  young  that  he  had  not 
got  used  to  it,  and  loved  to  think  about  it. 

Joyselle,  too,  was  unusually  silent  for  a  long  time. 
Then  at  last  he  turned  to  Brigit,  his  face  grave  as  she 
had  hitherto  seen  it  only  when  he  was  playing. 

"  I  will  not  intrude  again,  Brigitte,"  he  said,  his 
deep  voice  very  gentle;  "  but  when — if — you  ever 
care  to  come  to  me  for  help  or  advice — of  any  kind, 
I  shall  always  be  at  your  service." 


98  THE     HALO 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  could  say  no  more,  for 
fear  of  breaking  down.  Then  her  sense  of  humour, 
never  very  keen,  did  for  once  come  to  the  rescue,  and 
in  an  absurd  mental  flash-light  she  pictured  his  face  if 
she  should  suddenly  put  her  head  down  on  his  knees 
and  wail  out  the  truth :  "  Yes,  dear  Beau-papa,  ad 
vise  and  help  me,  for  I  am  to  be  your  daughter,  my 
children  are  to  be  your  grandchildren,  and — I  love 
you!" 

Something  in  her  face  hurt  him,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  drive  he  quite  simply  and  frankly  sulked. 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN 

BRIGIT  went  for  a  long  walk  that  afternoon,  as 
was  her  wont  when  she  wished  to  think.  As  she 
started  from  the  house  she  met  Carron.  "  Look 
here,  Brigit,"  he  said  roughly,  "  you  slept  with  your 
mother  last  night.  Was  it  because  you  were  afraid 
I  might  come  back?  " 

She  eyed  him  with  great  coolness  from  under  the 
shadow  of  her  felt  hat.  "  No,  I  was  afraid,  when  I 
left — my  little  brother — that  you  might  have  come 
back"  And  she  took  her  walking-stick  from  its 
place. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  returned  sullenly, 
looking  at  her  as  she  stood  in  the  faint  autumn  sun 
shine,  her  well-cut  coat  and  skirt  somehow  failing  to 
take  from  her  her  curious  Indian  air.  "  I  was  a 
beast." 

"  You  always  are,  Gerald.  Once  when  I  was  a 
child  a  spider  bit  me — or  do  spiders  sting?  Well, 
it  made  me  a  bit  sick  at  first,  and  then  I — forgot  it. 
Good-bye." 

The  man's  nerves  were  evidently  in  a  bad  state, 
for  at  her  insult  his  face  broke  out  into  a  cold  per 
spiration  and  went  very  white.  "  Oh — I  am  a  spider, 
am  I?  All  right,  I  am  glad  I  kissed  you.  Glad  I 
held  you  close  in  my  arms.  You  can't  undo  that, 
whatever  you  may  say." 


ioo  THE     HALO 

She  stood  quietly  swinging  her  stick,  a  smile  just 
touching  her  disdainful  mouth.  She  was  purposely 
being  maddening,  and  she  knew  to  the  uttermost  the 
value,  as  a  means  of  torture  to  the  trembling  man 
before  her,  of  the  slight  lift  of  her  upper  lip  as  she 
looked  at  him. 

"  Quite  finished?  "  she  asked,  as  he  paused.  "  Then 
perhaps  you'll  let  me  go?  Good-bye" 

He  watched  her  out  of  sight,  and  then  wiping  his 
face  carefully  with  his  handkerchief,  returned  to  the 
house. 

Crossing  the  park  by  a  footpath  that  was  now 
half-buried  in  fallen  leaves,  she  came  out  on  the  high 
road,  and  turning  to  the  left,  took  a  steep  path  lead 
ing  to  the  downs. 

She  walked  with  unusual  rapidity  for  a  woman, 
climbing  the  path  without  relaxing  her  gait  or 
losing  her  breath.  The  sharp,  damp  air  brought  to 
her  face  colour  that  Carron  had  been  unable  to  call 
up.  He  was,  poor  wretch,  so  utterly  secondary  to 
her,  that  he  was  as  little  important  as  the  long-for 
gotten  spider.  It  was  Joyselle  who  occupied  her 
thoughts,  whom  her  mental  eyes  saw,  as  she  walked 
steadily  seawards,  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  been  with 
her. 

The  next  morning  would  begin  a  respite  for  her, 
in  one  sense,  for  he  was  going  away.  His  old 
mother  was  ill  in  Falaise,  and  he  was  going  to  see 
her.  "  Then,"  he  had  added,  "  I  must  visit  a  friend 
in  Paris.  I  shall  not  be  back  before  the  last  of 
November." 


THE     HALO  101 

This  information  he  had  volunteered  to  her  im 
mediately  after  lunch,  having  ' quite  'forgotten  his 
resentment  at  her  lack  of  response  to,  his  offers  of 
advice.  His  quick  changes  of  rltUSsdw  \veVt  very 
puzzling,  and  continually  made  her  doubt  whether 
she  or  anyone  else  knew  him  at  all,  though  she  had 
too  much  discrimination  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
any  one  of  his  moods. 

She  had  left  him  on  the  point  of  going  to  his  room 
to  play  for  Tommy,  and  knew  that  her  brother  would 
probably  unfold  to  him  during  the  afternoon  his 
plan  of  becoming  a  violinist. 

If  the  child  had  talent,  Joyselle  would,  she 
believed,  do  his  utmost  to  help  him,  and  this  was 
another  reason  why  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind 
how  to  manage  her  own  affairs. 

Even  if  she  wished  to  break  her  engagement  and 
never  see  Joyselle  again,  had  she  the  right  thus  to 
take  from  her  brother  the  chance  of  great  happiness 
and  protection  that  seemed  to  have  come  to  him? 

"  Joyselle  would  never  speak  to  me  again  if  I 
threw  Theo  over,"  she  told  herself.  u  First,  he 
would  scold  me  violently,  and  then  he'd  lop  us  all  off, 
trunk  and  branch.  And — he  might  be  the  making 
of  Tommy.  Theo  is  so  gentle  and  good,  and  he 
so  splendid — I  could  have  Tommy  a  lot  with — 
us " 

On  the  other  hand,  however,  what  if  she  went 
from  bad  to  worse  regarding  Joyselle?  Would  she 
be  able  to  bear  it? 

Her  thoughts  turning  the  matter  relentlessly  over 


102  THE    HALO 

and. over,  as  a  squirrel  does  his  wheel,  she  came  home, 
getting  there  just  at  tea-time. 

,  Lady ;  Kbgsmpad, .  very  much'  bored  with  her 
guests,  had  her  useful  headache,  and  the  girl  had  to- 
hurry  into  dry  clothes,  for  the  rain  had  come  on, 
and  play  hostess. 

"Tea,  M.  Joyselle?" 

He  made  a  wry  and  very  ludicrous  face.  "  Merely. 
LadyBrigit!" 

"  French  people  always  loathe  tea,  my  dear," 
laughed  the  Duchess;  "  they  take  it  when  they  have 
colds,  as  we  take  quinine." 

Miss  Letchworth,  who  had  been  three  times  to 
Paris  for  a  week  at  a  time,  looked  up  from  her  em 
broidery.  "  Oh,  Duchess!  People  of  our  class  often, 
drink  it,"  she  protested,  the  only  tea  she  had  ever 
consumed  in  Paris  being  that  of  her  hotel  or  of 
Columbins,  "don't  they,  mossoo?" 

Joyselle's  eyes  drew  down  at  the  corners  and  he 
gave  his  big  moustache  a  martial,  upward  twist* 
"Ask  others,  mademoiselle,"  he  retorted  wickedly. 
"  I  am  not  of  your  class !  " 

It  was  brutal,  and  there  was  a  short  silence.  Brigit 
was  annoyed.  Last  night  she  had  hoped  for  one  of 
his  outbursts,  but  now  that  it  had  come  she  was 
ashamed  for  him.  And  she  shivered  as  she  realised 
that  this  shame  was  a  serious  sign. 

"  Horrid  speech,"  she  remarked,  looking  into  the 
teapot  she  had  forgotten  to  fill  with  water,  "  isn't  it, 
Theo?" 

But  Theo  only  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 


THE     HALO  103 

d'ers.  His  father  was  his  father,  and  except  in  little 
matters,  such  as  satin  and  too  flamboyant  ties,  not  to 
be  even  mentally  criticised. 

"  But  it  is  true,  my  dear,"  continued  Joyselle,  the 
mischief  suddenly  gone  from  his  face,  a  shrewd  look 
of  inquiry  taking  its  place.  "  You  are  going  to 
marry  into  a  peasant  family,  you  know."  Another 
change  of  mood!  He  was  severe  now  and  disap 
proving. 

She  held  up  her  head.  "  No  one  could  call  Theo 
a  peasant,  could  they,  Duchess?  " 

Joyselle  understood,  and  with  bewildering  rapidity 
again  changed.  "  Bravo ! "  he  cried,  laughing 
heartily.  "  You  are  marrying  the  son,  you  mean,  not 
the  father.  C'est  vrai,  c'est  vrai!  " 

His  utter  unconsciousness  was  a  great  blessing,  no 
doubt,  but  at  that  moment  it  nearly  maddened  her. 
Was  he  blind? 

Apparently  he  was,  as  he  drank  some  mineral 
water  and  talked  to  the  Duchess. 

The  arrival  of  Lady  Brinsley's  poor  dear  Mr. 
Smith,  the  vicar,  was  the  next  mild  event  of  the  day, 
and  as  his  head  too  was  filled  with  coals  and  blankets, 
the  story  of  the  abominable  coal-dealer  had  again  to 
be  listened  to  and  lamented  over. 

"  The  very  worst  coals  I  ever  saw  in  my  life, 
positively,  are  they  not,  Lady  Brinsley?  " 

"  Eh,  yes,  Mr.  Smith,  quite  too  shocking.  Noth 
ing  but  dust,  Duchess,  positively." 

"  We  are  all  dust,"  returned  the  Duchess,  who  was 
whispering  to  Joyselle  about  the  Grand  Duchess 


104  THE     HALO 

Anastasia-Katherine,  dans  le  temps.  "  Oh,  no,  we 
are  all  worms,  aren't  we?" 

"  Positively,  I  never  saw  such  very  inferior  coals," 
went  on  the  Vicar,  wondering  what  on  earth  she  was 
talking  about. 

Brigit  looked  at  him  as  he  babbled  on.  He  was  a 
very  thin  man,  who  always  reminded  her  of  a  plucked 
bird.  Soon  he  would  ask  her  why  he  had  not  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  in  church  for  so  long.  He 
would  hope  that  she  had  not  had  a  cold. 

He  did  both  these  things,  poor  man,  for  it  was  his 
role  in  life  always  to  say  and  do  the  perniciously 
obvious. 

It  was  a  very  trying  hour,  but  at  last,  under  the 
dutiful  pretext  of  going  to  look  after  her  mother, 
Brigit  escaped  and  flew  to  Tommy's  room. 

It  was  a  strange  apartment  for  a  little  boy,  for  it 
had  been  assigned  to  him  once  when  he  was  ill,  as 
being  sunny,  and  beyond  his  brass  bedstead  and 
small  boy  hoards,  contained  nothing  whatever  that 
looked  as  if  it  belonged  to  one  of  few  years. 

For  it  was  hung  in  faded  plum-coloured  satin,  the 
eighteenth-century  furniture  was  quaint  and  beauti 
ful,  and  the  narrow  oval  mirrors,  set  in  tarnished 
gilded  frames  like  a  frieze  about  its  walls,  presented 
to  Brigit's  eye  as  she  opened  the  door  an  infinite  and 
bewildering  number  of  Tommies,  bending  studiously 
over  a  large  sheet  of  writing-paper,  that  he  held  on  a 
book  on  his  knees. 

"  Hello,  Tommy,  what  are  you  up  to?  " 

The  boy  looked  up,  his  face  full  of  ecstasy.     "  I 


THE     HALO  105 

say,  Bick,  he  will!  He  will  help  me  learn  to  be  a 
violinist !  He's  going  to  find  a  good  teacher  for  me, 
and  then,  when  I  have  got  over  the  first  grind,  you 
know,  he's  going — oh,  Bicky,  darling — he's  going  to 
teach  me  himself,  at  the  same  time.  Isn't  he  an 
angel!" 

She  sat  down.  "  Yes,  Tommy.  But  what  on 
earth  are  you  writing?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  he — he  says  I  must  be  educated. 
I  had  to  promise  him  to  go  in  for  Latin  and  all  that 
rot.  It's — a  bore,  but  he  says  a  musician  must  be 
educated " 

She  started.  And  he  himself,  was  he  educated? 
Did  he  know  the  ordinary  things  known,  colloquially 
speaking,  by  everybody?  She  did  not  know.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  her  before. 

"  Yes,  dear,  but — what  is  that  paper?  " 

Tommy  blushed. 

"'Well,  he's  so  keen  on  it,  you  know,  I  thought 
I'd  advertise  for  a — a  tutor." 

"  Advertise  for  a  tutor!  " 

"  Yes.  There  is  no  good  in  wasting  time,  is  there? 
And  she  would  potter  about  asking  people  their  ad 
vice,  etc.,  so  I — I  have  just  drawn  up  this.  You 
won't  tell?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  much  gravity  and  then 
read  what  he  had  written: 

"  Wanted,  by  the  Earl  of  Kingsmead,  a  tutor. 
Oxford  man  preferred.  Must  be  fond  of  sport,  par 
ticularly  ratting  and  cricket." 


io6  THE     HALO 

"  Do  you  think  it's  all  right?"  he  asked,  as  he 
read  it. 

"  Y — yes — only  there  isn't  any  *  k  '  in  '  particu 
larly.'  But  I  think  we'd  better — ask  someone,  little 
brother.  I  don't  imagine  that  children  usually  ad 
vertise  for  their  own  tutors." 

"  But  there  isn't  any  *  usually '  about  me,  Bick. 
And  certainly  mother  isn't  '  usual/  nor  you.  And  if 
she  got  a  man  I'd  be  sure  to  loathe  him.  Think  of 
that  chap  Baker  that  she  thought  such  a  lot  of. 
Why,  he  read  poetry!  " 

"  Poetry  isn't  any  worse  than  music,  is  it?  " 

Tommy's  mouth,  as  he  smiled,  was  its  most  fawn- 
like.  "Music!  Rather  different,  my  dear  Brigit. 
Well — can  you  lend  me  some  money  for  my  ad?  " 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  answered 
in  a  kind  of  desperate  impatience,  "Oh,  dear! 
Suppose  you  go  and  ask  him  what  to  do." 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

THE  Duchess,  that  evening,  watched  Brigit  with 
dismayed  surprise.  What  had  happened  to  the  girl? 
Where  were  her  happy  expression  and  youthful 
spirits  ? 

Theo  had  not  changed;  that  they  had  not 
quarrelled  was  quite  evident,  for  when  she  spoke  to 
him  there  was  something  of  the  gentleness  of  the 
day  before  in  her  manner;  but  this  exception 
excepted,  the  girl  had  reverted  to  her  old  air  of 
silent,  resentful  indifference,  and  her  strange  beauty 
was  to  the  watchful  old  woman  as  repellent  as  she 
had  ever  seen  it. 

Once,  when  Carron  spoke  to  her,  Brigit  answered 
without  turning  her  head,  and  with  her  narrowed 
eyes  and  slow-moving  lips  looked  almost  venomous. 
If  she  had  produced  a  knife  and  plunged  it  into  him, 
the  Duchess  told  herself  she  would  not  have  been 
surprised. 

"  An  uncommonly  unpleasant  young  person," 
thought  the  old  lady,  "  with  the  temper  of  a  fiend. 
I  wonder  where  she  got  it;  poor  Henry  had  no 
temper  at  all,  and  her  mother  is  at  worst  a  spitfire." 

Yelverton,  too,  noticed  the  disquieting  change  that 
had  come  over  Lady  Brigit,  and  observed  with  some 
amusement  that  she  had  noticed  his  observation  and 
did  not  care  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other. 


io8  THE     HALO 

Theo,  seeing  his  love  with  the  rosiest  of  spectacles, 
asked  her  gently  what  was  the  matter,  and  was  told 
in  a  quiet  voice  that  she  was  cross.  "  I  have  an 
abominable  temper,  poor  boy,"  she  said. 

And  possibly  because  it  was  the  simple  truth,  it 
never  occurred  to  him  to  believe  her,  and  he  set  this 
remark  down  as  an  example  of  her  divine  humility. 

Her  mother,  glaring  at  her  toward  the  end  of 
dinner,  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Cross  again,"  she  thought;  "what  an  infernal 
temper  she  has.  I'm  glad  I  haven't,  it  makes  so  many 
wrinkles." 

But  Brigit  had  some  reason  for  looking  tragic,  for 
she  had  made  up  her  mind,  while  dressing,  to  break 
her  engagement.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Joyselle  would 
prove  large-minded  enough  to  continue  to  see 
Tommy,  and  even  if  he  did  not,  she  must  end  matters. 

Regarding  herself,  the  girl  had  a  curious 
prescience,  and  the  vague  foreboding  she  had  felt 
ever  since  her  realisation  of  her  love  for  Joyselle  had, 
as  she  sat  before  her  glass  while  her  maid  dressed 
her  hair,  suddenly  developed  into  a  definite  terror. 
She  knew  that  something  dreadful  would  happen  if 
she  continued  to  see  Joyselle,  and  the  fact  that  he 
was  quite  innocent,  and  unsuspecting  of  the  threat 
ened  danger,  gave  her  the  sensation  of  one  who  sees 
a  child  playing  with  a  poisonous  snake.  H e  was  in 
danger  as  well  as  she,  and  not  only  they  two,  but 
his  son  and  his  wife.  Her  beauty  was  so  great,  and 
she  was  so  accustomed  to  see  its  effect  on  men,  that 
there  was  no  vanity  at  all  in  her  suddenly  awakened 


THE     HALO  109 

solicitude  for  him.  At  any  moment  he  might  see  her 
with  the  eyes  of  a  man,  instead  of,  as  he  had  hitherto 
done,  with  those  of  a  father. 

"  And  if  he  fell  in  love  with  me"  she  told  herself 
as  the  maid  clasped  her  pearls  round  her  neck,  "  there 
would  be  no  hope  for  any  of  us." 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  possibility  of  Joyselle's 
loving  her  only  added  to  her  misery,  for  most  women 
in  like  cases  would  have  clutched  at  the  bare  chance 
of  such  a  contingency  in  rapturous  disregard  of  all 
consequences. 

She,  however,  who  had  been  the  object  of  more 
strong  passions  than  many  women  ever  even  hear  of, 
knew  although,  or  possibly  because,  she  had  never 
before  cared  a  jot  for  any  man,  that  her  time  had 
come,  and  that  for  her  love  must  be  a  perilous  thing. 
She  had  once  been  called  a  stormy  petrel,  and  now 
as,  racked  with  the  agony  of  her  resolve,  she  sat 
through  the  interminable  dinner,  she  recalled  the 
name,  and  smiled  bitterly  to  herself.  Yes,  she  was  a 
stormy  petrel,  and  she  had  no  right  to  ruin  Victor 
Joyselle  and  his  family.  She  would  break  her 
engagement  and  go  to  Italy  for  the  winter.  The 
Lenskys  were  going,  and  she  would  go  with  them. 

Joyselle  was  in  high  spirits  that  evening.  He  had 
had  a  letter  from  La-bas,  as  he  always  called 
Normandy,  and  his  mother  was  better,  and  greatly 
looking  forward  to  his  visit.  "  She  is  old,  my 
mother,"  he  told  the  party,  "  eighty  years  old,  but 
her  cheeks  are  still  rosy!  They  live  in  Falaise,  in 
a  small  little  house  near  the  parish  church,  and  in 


no  THE     HALO 

her  garden  she  grows  vegetables — ah,  such  vege 
tables  !  " 

"  It  is  a  great  age,"  observed  someone,  and  he 
laughed  aloud.  "  Yes — for  here.  La-bas  with  us, 
she  is  not  so  old  as  she  would  be  here.  I  am  an  old 
man  here,  but  there,  I  am  still  jeune  Joyselle !  And 
my  big  boy,  my  betrothed  boy,  is  still  le  petit  du 
jeune  Joyselle." 

It  was  not  particularly  interesting,  but  nevertheless 
everyone  at  the  table  listened  with  delight.  The 
man's  vividness,  his  simple  certainty  of  their  sym 
pathy,  were  irresistible. 

"  Next  September,"  he  went  on,  draining  his  cham 
pagne  glass  and  wiping  his  moustache  upward,  in  a 
martial  way,  "  is  their  golden  wedding,  mes  vieux! 
It  will  be  very  fine.  Very  fine  indeed,  for  all  the 
children  and  grandchildren,"  he  glanced  slily  at 
Brigit,  who  clasped  her  hands  lightly  on  her  lap, 
"  will  be  there,  and  we  shall  eat  until  we  can  eat  no 
more,  and  tell  each  other  old  tales,  and  boast  about 
our  successes  in  life — ah,  it  will  be  very  pleasant !  " 

"  You  will  come  too,  my  Brigit,"  whispered  Theo 
under  his  breath.  "I  can  show  them  my  wonderful 
—wife?" 

She  could  not  answer,  and  he  took  her  distress 
for  girlish  confusion,  and,  manlike,  rejoiced  in  it. 

After  dinner  Joyselle  came  straight  to  her.  "  May 
I  talk  to  you  about  Tommy?  "  he  began,  "  I  love 
Tommy  very  much." 

"  He — adores  you." 

"  Yes.    Let  us  go  into  the  library,  Most  Beautiful, 


THE     HALO  in 

where  we  can  talk  quietly."  Before  she  could  pro 
test  he  had  turned  to  her  mother  and  announced  his 
intention.  "  I  leave  to-morrow,  before  she  will  be 
up,"  he  declared,  "  and  there  are  things  I  must  say. 
You  allow  me,  Lady  Kingsmead?" 

Then  he  put  his  arm  round  the  girl's  waist  and 
marched  her  down  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  library. 

"Isn't  he  quaint?"  giggled  Lady  Kingsmead  to 
the  Duchess,  and  the  old  woman  assented  with  a 
laugh.  "  He  is  an  amazing  mixture  of  the  boyish 
and  the  paternal.  I  thoroughly  like  him." 

Meantime  Brigit  had  sat  down  in  a  tall-backed 
carved  chair,  and,  her  hands  on  its  arms,  waited  for 
Joyselle  to  speak.  He  walked  about  the  room  for  a 
few  moments,  looking  up  at  the  book-covered  walls, 
opening  one  of  the  windows,  examining  an  ivory 
dragon  that  grinned  on  the  chimney-piece.  Then  he 
burst  out,  "  Ehy  bien,  my  dearest,  and  when  is  it 
to  be?" 

"When  is  what  to  be?" 

"  The  wedding." 

A  hot  blush  crept  over  her,  leaving  her  cold. 

"  Theo  wants  his  wife,  and  I  want  my  daughter," 
he  continued,  sitting  down  by  her  and  taking  her 
hand  affectionately,  "  why  waste  time !  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  hopeless  dismay.  He  was 
so  big,  so  strong,  so  overpowering,  she  felt  that  her 
strength  to  resist  his  will  was  as  nothing. 

"  You  think  I  ask  too  soon?  "  He  looked  at  her, 
an  anxious  pucker  in  his  eyelids,  "  But  no.  There 


ii2  THE     HALO 

is  never  too  much  time  in  which  to  be  happy,  ma 
Brigitte " 

For  the  first  time  in  her  recollection  she  was 
glad  to  see  Gerald  Carron,  as  he  came  up  the  stairs, 
and  approached  them  slowly. 

"  Does  mother  want  me?  "  she  asked,  rising. 

"  No.    I — just  wondered  what  you  were  doing." 

u  I  brought  Lady  Brigit  here  because  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  her,"  explained  Joyselle,  mildly.  Carron 
laughed. 

"  So  do  I  want  to  talk  to  her!  " 

Brigit  gave  a  nervous  laugh.  "  Let's  all  go  down 
stairs  and  talk  there.  My  conversation  isn't  usually 
so  appreciated." 

The  two  men  followed  her  in  silence,  and  to  her 
immense  relief  were  both  promptly  accosted  by 
someone  of  the  party,  and  she  could  escape  to  her 
window  seat. 

What  would  have  happened  if  Carron  had  not 
come,  she  asked  herself  with  a  shudder.  Would  her 
strength  have  come  back,  and  would  she  have  been 
able  to  tell  Joyselle  that  he  must  make  no  plans  for 
her  wedding? 

Until  she  had  known  his  father,  Theo  had  never 
seemed  to  her  to  lack  personality;  he  was  young,  but 
his  very  boyishness  was  individual.  Yet  now  with 
Joyselle  clamouring  for  her  to  fix  her  wedding-day, 
Theo  seemed  to  fade  into  insignificance,  and  her 
task  to  become  that  of  breaking  the  news  of  her 
intended  rupture  with  the  son,  to  the  father. 

And  as  she  sat  there  in  the  background  watching 


THE     HALO  113 

the  members  of  the  little  party  as  they  smoked  and 
chatted  to  each  other,  she  gave  up  and  resolved  on 
flight.  "  If  I  told  Theo  he  would  rush  to  his  father," 
she  thought,  "  and  then  Joyselle  would  come  to  me. 
And  we'd  quarrel,  and  then  anything  might  hap 
pen."  His  utter  unconsciousness  was  at  once  a  safe 
guard  and  a  menace. 

"  I'll  say  nothing  until  he  is  safe  in  Normandy," 
she  decided. 


PART  II 


CHAPTER    ONE 

THERE  is  on  an  olive-covered  slope  near  the 
Mediterranean  a  certain  shabby  pink  villa  which  is 
remarkable  for  one  thing.  In  it,  years  ago,  dwelt 
for  a  long  time  a  man  and  a  woman  who,  having 
no  legal  right  to  love,  yet  not  only  loved,  but  were 
perfectly  happy.  They  lived  almost  alone,  they  had 
little  money,  the  house  was  shabby  even  then,  they 
had  few  servants  and  but  indifferent  Italian  food, 
and  nothing  but  old-fashioned  tin  baths  to  wash  in. 
Yet  they  were  English,  and  they  were  happy  be 
cause  they  loved  each  other  so  much  that  nothing 
else  mattered.  Now  this  phrase  about  nothing  else 
mattering  is  as  common  in  love  affairs  as  the  pathetic 
abuse  of  the  poor  old  word  eternity;  but  in  the  case 
I  instance,  it  fitted.  Nothing  else  did  matter.  Not 
even,  to  any  extent,  the  presence  of  the  one  child 
that  had  come  to  them.  Contrary  to  all  ethical  and 
reasonable  law,  these  two  sinners  were  happy  in  their 
pink  house  by  the  sea,  and  years  after  they  had  left 
it  there  seemed  to  hang  about  the  old  place  a  kind 
of  atmosphere  of  romance,  as  if  the  sun  and  the 
moon,  that  have  seen  so  much  changeableness,  loved 
still  to  look  down  at  the  place  where  two  human 
beings  had  been  faithful  to  each  other. 


THE     HALO  115 

These  two  people  were  Pamela  Lensky's  father 
and  mother,  and  hither  came,  early  in  the  November 
that  followed  her  meeting  with  Victor  Joyselle, 
Lady  Brigit  Mead  as  the  guest  of  the  Lenskys. 
And  here  she  stayed,  while  the  mild,  sunny  winter 
days  drifted  by  unmarked,  a  silent,  ungenial  guest. 

The  Lenskys  were  happy  people  and  enjoyed  life 
as  it  came.  He,  a  slim,  blond,  exceedingly  well- 
dressed  little  man,  was  attached  to  the  Russian  Em 
bassy  in  London,  in  some  more  or  less  permanent 
quality,  having  given  up  his  secretaryship  after  a 
miserable  sojourn  in  a  Continental  city  that  he  and 
his  wife  both  hated. 

They  had  money  enough  to  live  comfortably,  in  the 
quiet  way  they  both  liked,  in  England,  and  a  year 
before  that  November  his  mother  had  died,  leaving 
them  the  richer  by  a  few  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
So  they  were  well-off  in  the  sense  that  they  had  plenty 
of  money  to  spend,  and  the  certainty  that  their 
children  would  one  day  be  in  still  better  circum 
stances. 

One  day  in  January  Mrs.  de  Lensky  was  sitting  on 
the  floor  in  the  brick-floored  nursery,  building  a 
Moorish  palace  for  her  son,  aged  eighteen  months. 

She  was  a  thin  woman  of  thirty-six  or  seven,  with 
large  dark  eyes,  somewhat  hollow  now,  and  a 
brown  vivid  face  on  which  life  had  put  several  deep 
lines — all  of  which,  though  unbeautiful  in  them 
selves,  were  good  lines,  and  made  for  character. 

"  And  here's  the  tower  in  which  the  little  boy 
lived,"  she  said  to  the  baby,  who,  very  fat  and 


n6  THE     HALO 

peculiarly  blond,  regarded  her  rapturously,  "  and 
here's  the  dungeon  where  they  put  him  when  he  was 
naughty.  If  Thaddeus  bites  Elvira  again,"  she 
added  gravely,  "  what  will  happen  to  him?  " 

But  Thaddeus,  who  was  possessed  of  the  courage 
incidental  to  a  sound  digestion  and  dormant  nerves, 
only  laughed  and  showed  the  wicked  fangs  that  had 
bitten  the  nurse. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  bare,  sunny  room,  the  rug 
covered  with  shabby  toys,  the  walls  nearly  hidden  by 
pictures  from  illustrated  papers.  Through  an  open 
door  one  saw  a  table  at  which  sat  a  little  girl  of  six, 
bending  over  a  book  with  the  unmistakable  air  of  a 
child  learning  something  uninteresting. 

"  Eliza!" 

"  Yes,  mother?  "  Eliza  looked  up.  She  too  was 
blonde,  but  her  eyes  were  dark. 

"  Where  is  Pammy,  dear?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mother.  Perhaps  she's  eating 
plaster  again,"  suggested  Eliza,  with  the  alertness 
that  even  charming  children  sometimes  show  when 
face  to  face  with  the  crime  of  some  contemporary. 

Pam  did  not  laugh.  Plaster-eating  may  be  funny 
in  other  people's  children,  but  seven-year-old  Pammy, 
her  adopted  daughter,  was  too  old  to  persist  in  the 
habit,  and  punishment  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on 
it.  The  house  was  old,  and  the  walls  defective  in 
many  places,  and  Pammy's  joy  was  to  dig  out  bits  of 
ancient  plaster  and  consume  it  on  the  sly.  It  was 
presumably  bad  for  her  stomach  and  indubitably 
bad  for  her  character,  as  the  child  persisted  in  it 


THE     HALO  117 

with  a  quiet  effrontery  that  baulked  discipline.  So 
Mrs.  de  Lensky  rose,  and  bidding  Eliza  look  after 
the  baby,  started  in  search  of  the  wicked  one. 

January  was  spring  at  the  Villa  Arcadie,  and  as 
she  went  downstairs  a  strong  scent  of  heliotrope 
and  narcissi  was  wafted  towards  her.  A  boy  stood 
in  the  hall  carrying  a  basket. 

"  Buon  giorno,  Beppino.  Oh,  what  lovely  flowers ! 
Tell  Giovanni  to  bring  them  to  me  in  the  salone,  will 
you?  "  Crossing  the  hall  she  went  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  there,  as  she  had  expected,  sat  Pammy. 

Years  before,  when  she  had,  half  out  of  kindness, 
half  out  of  loneliness,  adopted  the  little  new-born 
girl,  she  had  never  meant  to  marry.  And  when  she 
did  marry,  neither  she  nor  her  husband  wished  to  get 
rid  of  the  child.  But  the  result  had  not  been  par 
ticularly  satisfactory,  for  Pammy  had  grown  to  be  a 
very  fat,  very  stolid  person,  with  no  nose  to  speak 
of  and  no  sense  of  humour  at  all,  and  every  day  that 
passed  seemed  to  leave  her  a  little  more  unattractive 
than  she  had  been  the  day  before. 

Now,  at  seven,  she  was  as  tall  as  most  children  of 
ten,  immensely  fat,  with  pendulous  red  cheeks  that 
in  spite  of  cold  cream  and  soft  water  always  looked 
as  though  they  had  just  been  rubbed  with  a  grater. 
Her  hair,  long  and  fair,  was  dank,  hanging  in  two 
emaciated  pig-tails  nearly  to  her  waist,  and  her  nails 
— another  ineradicable  trick — bitten  to  the  deepest 
depths  possible. 

"  Pammy,  dear,  what  have  you  been  doing?"  in 
quired  Pam,  gently. 


n8  THE     HALO 

"  Looking  out  the  window — and  I  ate  some  more 
plaster."  Stolidly,  with  lack-lustre  eyes,  the  culprit 
gazed  at  her  benefactor. 

Pam  sighed,  but  her  mouth  twitched.  "  I  asked 
you  not  to." 

"  I  know.  I  didn't  mean  to,  but — it  looked  so 
good." 

4  Tous  les  gouts  sont  dans  la  nature?  my  dear," 
quoted  Lensky,  coming  in  at  the  open  window, 
"  there  are  even  people  who  like  German  bands !  " 
Looking  down  at  Pammy  through  his  eyeglass,  the 
sun  fell  full  on  his  head,  betraying  an  incipient  bald 
patch.  Otherwise  Lensky  had  aged  not  at  all  since 
his  marriage. 

"  I  saw  Lady  Brigit  just  now,"  he  said,  suddenly, 
"  down  in  the  olive  grove.  I  think  something  has 
happened.  She  looked — queer." 

Pam  started.  "  Poor  dear — I'll  go  and  speak  to 
her — only,  you  know,  she  never  says  a  word  to  me 
about  her  trouble,  whatever  it  is.  I  wonder " 

"  Love  story,  of  course,"  returned  Lensky,  briefly. 
"When  a  woman  looks  like  that  it  always  is  a  love 
story." 

"  Yes,  but — Theo  is  such  a  dear!  And  I  know  he 
writes  to  her." 

"  Then  it  isn't  Theo.  He's  not  the  only  man  she 
knows." 

Pam  frowned  thoughtfully.  "  That's  true,  but — 
she  is  so  beautiful." 

Lensky  smiled  at  her,  and  on  his  strangely  white, 
shrewd,  worldly-wise  face  the  smile  looked  like  a 


THE     HALO  119 

sudden  flash  of  sunlight.  "  Yes,  she  is  without  a 
doubt  very  beautiful,  but " 

"'But'?" 

"  I  think  she  is  taking  her  trouble  the  wrong  way. 
She  is  bearing  it  without  grinning,  and  the  grinning 
is  to  my  mind  the  greater  half." 

"  But  remember  what  her  surroundings  at  home 
are,  Jack.  She  had  had  no  discipline  whatever;  her 
mother  is  horrid " 

Lensky  did  not  answer.  Somehow  he  never  cared 
to  hold  forth  on  the  subject  of  mothers  to  his  wife. 

And  then,  thin,  erect,  light-footed,  Pam  went  out 
from  the  house  in  which  her  strange  childhood  had 
been  lived,  and  turning  to  her  left  passed  down  the 
dangerously  mossy  marble  steps,  and  into  the  olive 
grove. 


CHAPTER   TWO 

LADY  BRIGIT  MEAD  was  sitting  on  the  hum- 

mocky  sparse  grass  under  an  ancient  olive-tree,  look 
ing  seawards.  She  wore  a  blue  frock  without  any 
collar,  and  her  face  and  long,  round  neck  were  very 
sunburnt.  Her  face  had  hardened  in  the  last  four 
months,  and  there  was  a  tense  look  about  her  upper 
lip,  yet  an  artist  would  have  preferred  her  face  as 
it  now  was  to  what  it  was  before  she  had  become 
engaged.  For  now  the  nervous  strain  she  was  living 
under  had  told  on  her  more  material  beauties,  leav 
ing  more  room  for  expression,  as  it  seemed,  to  the 
others. 

It  was  not  that  her  face  was  better,  but  the  suffer 
ing  in  it  was  less  petty  than  the  resentment  that  had 
formerly  stamped  it. 

The  dominant  characteristic  in  it  had  hitherto 
been  disdainful  bearing  of  small  annoyances;  now 
it  showed  a  grim  endurance  of  a  great  suffering. 

"  Bicky,  dear,"  Pam  asked  suddenly,  coming  up 
unheard,  "  what  is  it?  " 

She  started.    "  What  is  what?  " 

"  Your  trouble.  Oh,  don't  tell  me  if  you  don't 
want  to,  but  I  can  see  you  are  suffering,  and — I  used 
to  tell  the  Duchess,  long  ago,  and  it  always  did  me 
good." 

"  Did  you  tell  the  Duchess  about— Mr.  Peele,, 
Pam?" 


THE     HALO  121 

The  elder  woman  smiled  and  sighed.  "  No,  my 
dear,  I  didn't.  But — he  was  her  son-in-law." 

"  That  wasn't  why."  Brigit  had  not  moved,  and 
Pam  had  seen  no  more  than  her  profile  as  she  sat 
down. 

"  No,  it  wasn't.  But  then  I  was  particularly 
lonely,  and  literally  had  no  one  to  tell.  Whereas," 
she  added  with  brisk  good  sense,  "  you  have  me." 

For  several  minutes  there  was  unbroken  silence, 
and  then  Brigit  said  slowly,  "  I  believe  you're  right. 
And  I'll  tell  you.  It's  about — myself,  of  course; 
nothing  else  could  upset  me  to  this  extent!  You 
know  I'm  engaged  to  Theo  Joyselle.  Well — I  love 
his  father." 

Her  voice  was  defiant,  as  if  deprecating  in  ad 
vance  any  cut-and-dried  disapproval. 

Pam  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Then  "  Is 
his  mother — I  mean  Theo's  mother — alive?  "  she 
then  asked,  drawing  up  her  knees  and  clasping  them 
comfortably. 

"  Yes." 

"  That— is  a  pity." 

"A  pity!    Aren't  you  shocked  and  frightened?" 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  not  shocked,  and  I  don't  think  I 
am  frightened.  Brigit,  does  Theo  know?" 

Then  Brigit  turned,  her  face  white  under  the 
sunburnt  skin.  "  No.  I  am — afraid  to  tell  him." 

"Afraid?" 

"  Yes,  afraid.  If  I  broke  the  engagement, 
Joyselle  would  be  furious,  and  come  and  scold  me." 

"  Surely  you  aren't  afraid  of  being  scolded?  " 


122  THE     HALO 

"  By  him,  yes.  If  we  had  a  row — the  whole  thing 
would  come  out." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

The  girl  frowned.  "  You  are  you,  and  I  am  I. 
When  I  lose  my  temper  I  lose  my  head  and  behave 
like  a  lunatic.  I'd — let  it  all  out  as  sure  as  we  both 
live.  And  then "  She  broke  off  with  a  shrug. 

"  But,  Brigit  dear,  I  don't  quite  understand.  What 
does  Theo  think  of  your  being  here  all  the  winter? 
And  the  father,  doesn't  he  think  it  strange?  " 

"  No.  You  see,  Joyselle  went  away  from  Eng 
land  in  November,  and  was  detained  for  two  months; 
his  mother  was  ill.  When  I  left,  I  told  Theo 
I'd  write  to  him  once  a  week,  but  that  I  wanted 
a  long  rest  before — before  I  saw  him  again.  I  lied, 
and  said  I  wasn't  well. 

"  Then  when  Joyselle  came  back  he  wrote  to  me, 
saying  I  must  come  home.  I  wrote  him  a  disagree 
able  note,  practically  telling  him  to  mind  his  own 
business.  He  was  angry — and  besides,  he  was  work 
ing  hard,  and  didn't  write  again  until  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  see." 

"  Theo  has  been — fairly  contented1 — and  I  have 
been  trying  to  tide  things  over — no,  I  haven't,  I've 
just  funked  it,  Pam.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  to  do. 
I've  loved  being  here,  for  you  and  M.  de  Lensky  are 
so  good  to  me — but  I'm  afraid  he  might  come " 

"Theo?" 

"  TVo,"  sharply,  "  Joyselle.  He  adores  Theo  and 
would  hack  me  to  pieces  if  it  would  do  him  any  good. 
And — well,  I'm  afraid  of  him." 


THE     HALO  123 

Pam,  in  like  case,  would  have  faced  the  whole 
family,  successfully  broken  her  engagement,  protected 
her  own  secret,  and  done  her  hiding  afterwards,  but 
she  was  too  wise  to  say  so. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  Theo,"  she  remarked  presently. 

"  So  am  I.  And  for  Tommy,  too.  Tommy  has 
been  staying  in  Golden  Square  ever  since  Joyselle 
came  home,  and  he  is  so  happy,  poor  child.  It's — all 
hideous.  Will  you  read  his  letter?  " 

There  was  no  need  for  Pam  to  ask  whose  letter,  as 
she  took  it,  and  felt  Brigit's  hot,  dry  fingers  tremble 
against  her  own. 

"  MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER,"  she  read,  "  you  must 
come  back  to  us.  We  want  you.  Theo  says  nothing, 
but  I  can  see  how  he  misses  you,  and  surely  it  is  but 
natural?  And  petite  mere  and  I  want  you.  Surely 
you  have  had  enough  of  the  South  ?  It  is  unfitted  for 
you,  my  beautiful  one.  You  are  too  strong  to  like 
warm  air  in  the  winter.  Come  back  and  go  out  into 
the  fog  with  me,  and  let  the  chill  rain  dampen  your 
hair.  Come  back  to  your  lover  who  sighs  for  you,  to 
your  old  adoring  Beau-papa  who  longs  to  see  again 
the  face  of  his  beautiful  child.  "  JOYSELLE." 

"  Brigit — you  must  go." 

Brigit  poked  at  a  clump  of  moss  among  the  tangled 
roots  of  the  tree  under  which  they  sat,  and  sulked. 

^  You  must,  dear.  And — you  must  buck  up  and 
break  the  engagement.  It  isn't  fair,"  continued  Pam, 
energetically,  "  to  go  on  stealing  their  love." 


124  THE     HALO 

"  I  stealing  their  love ! — //  And  what  has  he 
done  to  me,  pray?  Do  you  know  that  I  haven't 
slept  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time,  for  months?  Do 
you  know  that  I  cannot  get  away  from  the  horrible, 
haunting  thought  of  him?  That  a  flower,  a  book, 
a  snatch  of  music — anything  that  reminds  me  of  him, 
turns  me  cold  all  over  and  takes  my  breath  away, 
so  that  I  simply  cannot  speak?  You  are  an  idiot, 
an  utter  fool,  to  talk  that  way.  He  has  ruined  my 
life,  and  you  say  I  have  stolen  his  love!"  She 
gasped  in  very  truth  as  she  ceased,  and  stood  with 
one  hand  on  her  heaving  breast,  her  face  white  with 
anger. 

"  You  have,  my  dear.  The  man  seems  really  to 
love  you  as  a  father.  And  you  certainly  have  no 
right  to  that  kind  of  affection  from  him !  You  must 
break  your  engagement." 

Suddenly,  after  a  long  pause,  during  which  she 
gazed  blindly  at  the  brilliant  sea,  Brigit  sat  down, 
and  turning,  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  and  burst 
out  crying. 

It  was  nervous,  irregular  sobbing,  cut  by  moans 
and  muttered  words,  broken  by  the  convulsive  move 
ment  of  her  shoulders.  Pam  was  appalled,  much  as 
a  man  might  have  been,  for  she  herself  had  never 
been  hysterical,  and  this  mixture  of  anguish  and 
anger,  given  vent  to  so  openly,  was  a  strange  and 
horrible  thing  to  her. 

However,  she  knew  enough  to  let  the  storm  pass 
without  interruption,  although  it  took  nearly  ten 
minutes  for  it  to  subside,  and  then,  while  Brigit,  her 


THE     HALO  125 

face  red  and  disfigured,  sat  up  and  smoothed  back  her 
hair  and  wiped  her  eyes,  Pam  spoke. 

"  It  must  be  lunch-time,"  she  said  with  great  wis 
dom,  and  Brigit  rose,  with  a  nod. 

"  I'll  go  for  a  walk.     Don't  want  any  lunch." 

"  All  right.     Good-bye." 

Then  they  separated,  Pam  going  up  the  sunny 
slope  to  her  husband  and  children,  Brigit,  down 
through  me  deserted  garden  of  a  long  uninhabited 
house,  to  the  lonely  sea. 


CHAPTER   THREE 

BRIGHT  left  the  villa  the  next  morning  and  went 
straight  to  London.  And  the  nearer  she  got  to  the 
old  town  which  contained,  for  her,  the  very  kernel 
of  life,  her  spirits  mounted  and  mounted  in  spite  of 
herself.  She  had  for  so  long  been  "  down  among 
the  dead  men,"  as  Tommy  called  depression,  that  her 
sudden  change  of  mood  affected  her  strangely. 

"  If  I  must  never  see  him  again,"  she  repeated 
over  and  over  again  aloud  to  herself,  in  the  solitude 
of  her  compartment,  "  I  shall  at  least  see  him  once, 
and — hear  him  speak.  I'll  make  him  play  to  me, 
too;  and  I  shall  see  his  big  unseeing  eyes,  and  his 
wonderful  hands!  "  The  very  wheels  of  the  train 
seemed  to  be  saying,  "  I'll  see  him,  I'll  see  him,  I'll 
see  him,"  and  when  she  landed  at  Dover,  in  a  pour 
ing  rain,  she  could  have  laughed  aloud  for  sheer 

joy- 

Her  mother  was  living  in  town,  in  the  tiny  house 
in  Pont  Street,  but  had  gone  to  the  country  for  the 
week-end,  so  the  girl,  to  her  great  delight,  was  alone 
with  the  servants. 

Putting  on  a  dressing-gown  she  sat  down  by  her 
fire  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Three  months,  a  fortnight,  and  six  days,"  she 
thought.  "  It  seems  years.  I  wonder  what  he  will 
say  to  me?  Will  he  be  glad  to  see  me?  And — how 


THE     HALO  127 

am  I  to  do?  Shall  I  tell  Theo,  and  make  him  tell? 
Or  shall  I  be  brave — as  Pam  would — and  tell  him 
myself!" 

Then,  realising  her  absurdity  in  forgetting  that 
after  all  it  was  more  Theo's  afiair  than  his  father's, 
she  laughed  aloud. 

It  was  easy  to  laugh,  for  whatever  happened  she 
would  see  Victor  Joyselle  that  evening,  and  beyond 
that  she  could  not,  would  not,  look.  The  world 
might  end  to-morrow,  and  it  mattered  nothing  to 
her.  That  night  he  and  she  would  be  face  to  face. 

She  shuddered,  for  he  would  call  her  his  daughter 
and  kiss  her  forehead.  Then  the  smile  came  back 
to  her  lips,  and  she  rose.  It  didn't  matter;  nothing 
mattered  but  the  great,  primary  fact  that  in — how 
many  hours? — four,  she  would  see  him.  Let  his 
mood  be  what  it  would — fatherly,  aloof,  impish — he 
would  be  himself,  she  would  see  him,  and  she  loved 
him. 

The  Duchess  of  Wight  had  written  to  her,  and 
going  to  her  dressing-table  she  re-read  the  note. 

It  was  short,  simply  telling  her  that  her  mother 
had  told  of  her  arrival,  and  asking  her  to  dine  at 
8.30  in  Charles  Street.  Not  she,  she  would  not  lose 
one  second  of  the  glorious  anticipations  that  were 
hers  now.  She  would  sit  here  close  to  her  fire  and 
gloat  over  her  joy.  Sitting  down,  she  took  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  began  to  write — 

"  DEAR  DUCHESS, — Thanks  so  much  for  asking 
me  to  dine,  but " 


128  THE     HALO 

She  broke  off  and  sat  staring  at  the  wall.  To 
morrow  at  this  time  what  would  have  become  of  her? 
The  world  would  have  run  its  course,  come  to  its 
end,  and  yet  she  would  be  still  alive  1  Could  she 
bear  it? 

She  would  have  told  her  story;  made  these  people 
understand  that  she  could  never  be  one  of  them; 
broken  (for  the  time)  Theo's  young  heart,  and  been 
reviled  and  cast  out  by  Joyselle. 

And  she  would  have  to  return  here,  alone,  broken 
with  grief,  hopeless.  Drearily  she  looked  round  the 
room.  It  would  all  be  the  same;  nothing  would 
change;  the  very  roses  on  her  dressing-table  would 
still  be  fresh  and  sweet,  and — she? 

Raising  her  head,  she  met  her  own  eyes  in  a  glass, 
and  started.  Her  own  beauty  amazed  her.  "  If  he 
could  see  me  now,"  she  said  aloud,  "  he  couldn't  call 
me  *  petite  file.'  He  doesn't  know  I  am  a  woman ; 
he  has  seen  me — as  if  through  spectacles.  If  I  had 
never  known  Theo,  and  then  met  him  somewhere  by 
chance " 

She  recalled  his  frank,  wondering  amazement  as 
she  raised  her  veil  that  evning  in  the  train. 

"  He  sees  me  always  with  Theo's  shadow  between 
us.  It  is — unfair — and " 

She  took  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper  and  began  her  let 
ter  again : 

"  DEAR  DUCHESS. — Thanks  so  much  for  asking 
me  to  dine  to-night.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come. 
Yours  sincerely.  "  BRIGIT  MEAD." 


THE     HALO  129 

Then  she  rang  for  the  housemaid,  who  would  in 
the  absence  of  her  half  of  Amelie  have  to  help  her 
dress,  and  gave  her  certain  directions. 

To-morrow  might  bring  what  it  would.  That  one 
evening  was  hers,  and  she  would  use  it.  Joyselle 
should  see  her  with  his  own  eyes,  as  a  man  sees  a 
woman,  not  as  a  father  sees  a  daughter.  And  he 
should  see  her  as  a  man  sees  a  marvellously  beautiful 
woman ! 

Satisfied  with  the  conclusion  to  which  she  had 
come,  she  lay  down  and  slept  for  an  hour,  after  which, 
the  enigmatic  smile  on  her  lips  bringing  into  pre 
dominance  the  resemblance  to  the  portrait  in  the 
Luxembourg,  she  dressed,  with  more  care  than  she 
had  ever  devoted  to  that  process  in  all  her  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  life. 

When  she  arrived  at  Charles  Street  and  had  shaken 
hands  with  the  Duchess,  who  had  had  influenza  and 
looked  very  old,  the  first  person  she  saw  was  Gerald 
Carron. 

"Will  you  speak  to  me,  Brigit?  "  he  said  diffi 
dently,  "  please  do." 

He,  too,  looked  ill,  and  moistened  his  lips  nervously 
as  he  spoke.  She  shook  hands  with  him  without 
answering,  and  he  hurried  on,  "  Haven't  I  been  good? 
I  knew  where  you  were,  and — I  might  easily  have 
come " 

'*  You  would  not  have  had  a  flattering  reception," 
she  suggested  drily. 

"  Or  written.  And  I  did  neither.  I  was  glad  you 
went,  though  God  knows " 


I3o  THE    HALO 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Talboys,"  she  cut  him 
short  ruthlessly,  "when  are  we  to  have  another 
book?" 

It  was  a  very  large  dinner,  and  Brigit,  placed  be 
tween  two  men  who  dined  out  for  reasons  dietetic  and 
economic,  and  did  not  talk,  was  free  to  pursue  her 
own  thoughts  at  leisure.  She  had  wired  Theo  before 
leaving  the  de  Lenskys',  that  she  was  leaving  for 
home,  and  before  starting  for  the  dinner  she  had  sent 
another  wire,  addressed  simply  "  Joyselle,"  to  say 
that  she  was  dining  out,  but  would  come  to  Golden 
Square  after  dinner. 

She  knew  that  Joyselle,  recognising  her  prompt  ap 
pearance  as  an  answer  to  his  letter,  would  be  at  home 
late  in  the  evening,  no  matter  where  he  might  have 
dined.  "  He  has  such  strong  family  feelings,"  she 
reflected,  with  a  menacing  curve  of  her  upper  lip. 

So  deeply  was  she  buried  in  her  thoughts  that  she 
was  amazed  to  find  suddenly  that  the  Duchess  was 
trying  to  gather  her  flock's  eye,  preparatory  to  herd 
ing  it  upstairs.  Both  her  hungry  neighbours  made 
spasmodic  attempts  to  eradicate  from  her  mind  the 
memory  of  their  fanatical  devotion  to  the  rites  of 
the  table,  and  she  smiled  absently  at  them,  wonder 
ing  what  they  would  have  thought  if  she  had  politely 
thanked  them  for  their  silence ! 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Duchess,  a  few  minutes  later, 
sitting  down  in  her  favourite  corner  by  the  fire, 
"  come  and  tell  me  about  Pam." 

"  She  is  well,  Duchess." 

"  Didn't  she  send  me  any  messages?  " 


THE    HALO  131 

"  She  did.  Much  love  and  some  kodaks  of  the 
children.  Your  god-child  is  a  love." 

"  H'm.  And  how  is  the  horrid  little  adopted 
one?" 

"Poor  Pammy!" 

"  Now  will  you  look  at  Lady  Agnes  Blundell 
spilling  coffee  all  over  my  carpet.  She  did  the  same 
thing  the  other  night  at  the  Beaufoys' !  I  really  be 
lieve  the  woman  drinks,  or  something.  What  were 
you  saying,  my  dear?  Oh,  how  is  your  young  man?  " 

Brigit  did  not  smile.    To-morrow  was  coming. 

"  I — I  haven't  seen  any  young  men  since  I  got  back, 
Duchess." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  tell  him  from  me  that  his  father  is 
a  wretch.  Is  there  a  wife?  I  think  someone  said 
there  was — well,  she  probably  doesn't  know  all  / 
know."  The  old  woman  pulled  down  her  mouth  in 
comic  disapproval. 

"What — is  it?  "  queried  Brigit. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  only — a  very  beautiful  foreign 
actress,  a  lady  famous  for  her — plastic  beauties. 
Voisin,  my  hairdresser — you  know  Voisin?  De 
lightful  person,  and  the  most  indiscreet  man  in  Lon 
don — tells  me  they  dined  together  every  evening  at 
a  little  French  place  near  Leicester  Square,  where 
he  dines.  And  it  appears  your  future  papa-in-law  was 
furiously ~epris,  or  still  is — possibly!  You  will  have 
to  keep  him  in  order.  What  is  it,  Bishop?  " 

The  butler,  whose  name,  the  Duchess  had  been 
known  to  declare,  explained  why  no  Anglican  or  other 
prelate  ever  dined  or  lunched  with  her — "  It  is  so 


132  THE     HALO 

confusing,  my  dear;  suppose  I  should  say  'Bishop, 
see  if  Mrs.  Snooks'  carnage  has  come  '  " — came 
quietly  up  to  the  sofa.  "  Her  ladyship's  carriage, 
your  Grace." 

Brigit  rose.  "  Yes,  I  fear  I  must  run  away. 
Thanks  so  much  for  having  me " 

And  when  the  men  came  in  she  had  gone. 

When  she  reached  Golden  Square  she  found  the 
house  in  a  blaze  of  light,  and  smiled.  It  was  like 
Joyselle  to  celebrate  her  return  by  illuminating  his 
every  window ;  it  would  have  been  like  him  to  put  up 
a  triumphal  arch;  to  have  a  big  supper  awaiting  her; 
these  things  belonged  to  the  side  of  his  nature  that 
clamoured  for  expression  in  white  satin  ties. 

For  a  moment  she  sat  still  in  the  motor,  while  the 
footman  held  the  door  open. 

"  Come  back  at  half-past  eleven,  Jarvis,"  she  told 
the  man,  and  got  out. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Toinon,  somewhat  to 
Brigit's  surprise — >for  it  would  have  been  more  like 
Joyselle  to  rush  downstairs  on  hearing  her  motor 
stop,  but  the  reason  was  soon  plainly  comprehensible, 
for  Joyselle  was  playing.  It  was  evidently  earlier 
than  they  had  expected  her.  Slipping  off  her  cloak 
and  with  a  finger  to  her  lips,  she  went  quietly  up 
stairs  and  stood  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  door. 

It  was  wild  music  that  she  heard;  music  that  made 
the  blood  in  her  temples  and  throat  pulse  harder 
than  ever.  Breathing  deep,  she  waited  for  the  climax, 
and  when  it  came,  quietly  opened  the  door. 

She  had  chosen  her  moment  well,  and  as  the  door 


THE     HALO  133 

faced  a  long  mirror  between  the  windows  she  saw,  as 
she  stood  on  the  threshold,  not  only  Joyselle,  who, 
alone  in  the  room,  stood  staring  in  amazement,  but 
also  that  at  which  he  stared — herself.  Clad  in  a 
dress  made  apparently  entirely  of  flexible  dull  gold 
scales,  the  long  lines  of  her  figure  unbroken  by  any 
belt  or  trimming,  the  woman  in  the  glass  stood  smil 
ing  like  a  witch  of  old,  a  deep  colour  in  her  cheeks, 
the  palms  of  her  hands  held  down  by  her  side,  the 
fingers  outspread  and  slightly  lifted  as  if  in  water. 
Quite  silently  she  stood  and  smiled  until  the  man 
before  her  dropped  his  violin — for  the  first  time,  she 
knew  instinctively,  in  his  life. 

Then  she  spoke,  saying  his  name,  the  name  by 
which  the  world  knew  him :  "  Joyselle" 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  returned  softly.  Coming  slowly 
forward  he  caught  her  hand  with  clumsy  haste  and 
kissed  it.  Her  heart  stopped  its  mad  beating,  for 
she  had  won.  Here  was  no  Beau-papa.  Here  was 
the  man,  Victor  Joyselle. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

"I  DID  not  know  you,"  he  said.  "I  thought — 
juste  del,  how  do  I  know  what  I  thought  ?  You  are 
so  beautiful,  I " 

She  laughed  gently.  "  Beau-papa  I  Beau-papa! 
Where  is  Theo?" 

For  she  knew  now  that  she  would  not  break  her 
engagement  to-night.  The  end  was  not  yet.  And 
by  the  strange  laws  that  govern  things  emotional 
between  men  and  women,  her  self-control,  hitherto 
utterly  lamed  by  his  presence,  was  now,  in  face  of 
his  involuntary,  as  yet  evidently  unconscious  awaken 
ing,  restored  to  her  tenfold  strong.  She  could  have 
spent  weeks  alone  with  the  man  without  betraying 
her  secret,  now  that  she  had  established  her  power 
over  him.  It  had  been  his  acceptance  of  the  fact  of 
her  future  relationship  to  him,  his  unexpressed  feel 
ing  that  she  was  a  being  of  another  generation,  his 
tacit  refusal  to  see  in  her  the  woman  per  se,  that  had 
beaten  her.  Now  she  had,  by  the  plain  assertion  of 
her  beauty,  the  enforcing  of  the  appreciation  of  it  as 
a  thing  appertaining  to  her  as  a  woman,  not  a  daugh 
ter,  got  the  reins — and  the  whip — into  her  own 
hands. 

"  Where,"  she  repeated,  still  smiling,  "  is  Theo?  " 

"  He   is   in   his   room;   he  will   come — iah,(   mon 
Dleu!  "     Kneeling  by  his  violin,  which  luckily  had 


THE     HALO  135 

fallen  on  a  bearskin,  he  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it 
shamefacedly.  "  See  what  you  made  me  do,"  he  said 
to  Brigit,  "  you  and  your  golden  dress !  Mon  pauvre 
Amati." 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  in  silence,  her  instinct 
telling  her  that  the  strange  smile  she  had  seen  on 
the  face  of  the  woman  in  the  glass  could  not  be  beaten 
for  purposes  of  subjugation.  She  continued  to  look 
and  smile,  but  she  was  sorry  for  him,  even  while 
every  fibre  in  her  thrilled  with  triumph. 

He  realised  her  now;  if  she  wanted  him  to  love 
her,  he  would. 

"Will  you  call  Theo?"  she  asked  as  he  rose. 
Without  a  word  he  left  the  room,  and  a  few  moments 
later  Theo's  arms  were  around  her,  his  fresh  lips  on 
hers. 

The  boy  was  so  happy,  so  incoherently,  innocently 
jubilant,  that  if  she  had  in  her  room  for  another 
feeling,  it  would  have  been  one  of  pity  for  him.  But 
there  was  no  room.  She  was  filled  with  triumph,  and 
a  full  vessel  can  contain  not  one  drop  more  of  how 
ever  precious  a  liquid. 

"  Ma  Engine — mon  adoree — que  je  fal  desiree!  " 
stammered  the  boy.  "Why  did  you  stay  so  long? 
Why  was  it  so  long?  But,  now,  it  is  over  and  you 
are  here.  You  have  come  to  me — you,  a  queen  to 
her  slave!" 

His  delightful  face  was  wet  with  unconscious  tears 
as  they  sat  together,  and  his  voice  trembled.  For  a 
moment  she  wished  she  could  love  him.  It  would  be 
so  much  more  fitting,  so  much  better — and  then  the 


136  THE     HALO 

demon  in  her  laughed.  No.  It  was  his  father  she 
loved,  and  who,  if  she  chose,  should  love  her. 

Madame  Joyselle  came  in,  splendid  in  a  new  brown 
silk  dress  that  fitted  her  as  its  skin  fits  a  ripe  grape, 
her  face  beaming  with  joy  in  her  son's  joy.  She 
gazed  in  amazement  at  Brigit  before  the  younger 
woman  bent  and  kissed  her,  and  then  sat  down  and 
folded  her  hands,  as  was  her  way. 

"  You  look  like  a  beautiful  dragon — doesn't  she, 
Theo?  "  she  asked,  "  doesn't  she,  Victor?  " 

Joyselle  had  returned  with  a  look  of  having  just 
brushed  his  hair.  He  looked  smoothed  down  in  some 
way  and  was  a  little  pale. 

"  My  faith,  she  does,  ma  vieille,"  he  returned. 
"  When  she  opened  the  door  I  was  so  startled  that  I 
— guess  what  I  did,  children?  Dropped  the  Amati !  " 
When  they  had  stopped  exclaiming  he  went  on, 
gradually,  but  with  a  perceptible  effort  getting  back 
his  usual  tone,  "  and  stood  and  gasped  like  a  young 
prince  in  a  fairy-tale,  didn't  I,  Most  Beautiful?  " 

She  smiled,  but  she  was  not  pleased.  "  You  did — 
Beau-papa,"  she  answered.  "  I  didn't  know  I  was  so 
beautiful.  I  have  been  dining  out,  hence  the  dragon's 
skin.  It  is  a  nice  frock,  isn't  it?  "  she  ended,  artistic 
ally  casual. 

And  then  there  were  questions  to  be  asked,  stories 
to  be  told,  and  an  hour  and  a  half  passed  like  five 
minutes. 

No  more  was  said  about  the  length  of  her  untimely 
visit  to  Italy,  but  much  about  the  days  in  the  near 
future.  Would  she  go  to  see  "  Peter  Pan  "  the  next 


THE     HALO  137 

night?  And  would  she  dine  first  at  a  little  restaurant, 
where  the  cooking  was  a  thing  to  dream  of? 

And  would  she  do  several  other  things? 

She  would.  She  would  do  all  these  things.  But 
• — she  would  not  go  to  a  certain  little  restaurant  near 
Leicester  Square,  of  which  she  had  heard.  Joyselle 
blushed  scarlet  and  for  a  moment  looked  as  though 
he  intended  to  thunder  out  a  severe  reproof  at  her. 
Then  she  smiled  at  him  with  narrowed  eyes,  and  he 
said  nothing. 

At  about  half-past  eleven  an  idea  occurred  to  her. 
She  wanted  an  omelet.  Like  the  first  time.  And  she 
must  borrow  an  apron  and  help  make  the  omelet; 
and  it  must  be  full  of  little  savoury  green  things,  and 
be  flopped  in  the  long-handled  frying-pan. 

"  But  your  dress !  "  cried  Madame  Joyselle,  in 
horror. 

"  An  apron,  and  I  will  twist  up  the  tail  of  the 
dragon  and  pin  it  at  the  waist,  and — oh,  come,  come, 
come,  it  will  be  such  fun !  " 

Down  the  stairs  they  ran,  the  three,  leaving 
Madame  Joyselle  to  turn  out  all  but  one  light,  and 
to  put  another  log  on  the  dying  fire. 

Filled  by  the  relentless  spirit  of  coquetry  that  had 
suddenly  awakened  in  her,  Brigit  Mead  danced  about 
the  great  white  kitchen,  teasing  Joyselle,  making  love 
to  his  wife,  laughing  openly  at  Theo's  admiration. 
She,  always  so  silent,  chattered  like  a  magpie;  she, 
the  uninterested,  flushed  with  intoxicating  nonsense; 
the  three  people  before  her  were  her  audience,  and 
she  played  to  them  individually,  a  different  role  for 


138  THE     HALO 

each ;  they  were  her  slaves,  and  she  piped  her  magic 
music  to  them  until  they  were  literally  dazed.  Then, 
suddenly,  she  whisked  off  her  blue  apron  and  unpinned 
the  dragon's  tail. 

"  The  omelet  was  good,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  eaten. 
And  it  is  to-morrow  morning  and  the  motor  will  be 
frozen.  Come,  mon  maitre,  play  one  beautiful  thing 
to  me  before  I  fly  away  from  you — something  very 
beautiful  that  I  may  dream  of  it." 

And  he  played  to  her  as  she  had  never  heard  him. 
If  the  omelet  had  been  a  magic  wine,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  inspired ! 

His  face  took  on  the  look  it  usually  wore  while  he 
played,  and  solemnly  and  reverently  he  stood,  his 
eyes  half  shut,  him  mouth  set  in  noble  lines.  He  had 
forgotten  Brigit,  but  sub-consciously  he  was  playing 
for  her,  and  she  knew  it,  and  appreciated  the  tribute, 
which  was  all  the  greater  because  offered  without 
Intent. 

She  watched  him  unceasingly,  and  gradually,  as 
the  music  went  on,  her  heart  sank,  and  she  realised 
that  she  had  done  a  most  unworthy  thing.  The 
feeling  she  had  had  that  last  evening  at  home  came 
back  to  her,  the  feeling  that  he  was  a  child  in  hor 
rible  danger.  Only  this  time  it  was  she  who  had 
deliberately  led  him  into  the  danger.  And  his  un 
consciousness  of  his  peril  hurt  her  so,  that  as  he 
stopped  playing  she  could  have  cried  to  him  to  go 
away,  to  run  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  where  she  could 
not  reach  him. 

"  You  liked  it?  "  he  asked  gently,  and  the  question 


THE    HALO  139 

seemed  so  pathetically  inadequate,  and  so  plainly 
emphasised  the  innocence  of  his  mind,  that  tears  came 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  very  quiet  voice,  "  thank  you, 
dear  papa."  But  this  time  there  was  no  malice  in 
the  term,  and  when  she  said  good-night  to  him  at  the 
motor  door,  it  was  simply  and  filially.  Then  she 
turned  to  Theo,  and  he,  looking  hastily  up  and  down 
the  quiet  street,  put  his  head  in  at  the  window  and 
kissed  her. 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

AND  that  was  the  beginning  of  a  most  extraor 
dinary  phase  of  Brigit  Mead's  life. 

For  the  next  four  months  she  saw  Joyselle  almost 
daily.  She  never  broached  the  subject  of  her  engage 
ment  being  broken,  its  permanence  was  taken  for 
granted  by  everyone,  and  Tommy's  indefinitely  pro 
longed  visit  to  Golden  Square  would,  if  anything 
more  than  the  fact  of  her  engagement  had  been  neces 
sary,  have  explained  her  constant  presence  there. 

Once  Theo  had  urged  her  to  set  their  wedding- 
day,  but  she  had  put  him  off  and  he  had  never  again 
opened  the  question.  That  the  young  man  was  not, 
could  not  possibly  be,  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  state 
of  affairs,  she  knew  very  well,  but  that,  she  told  her 
self,  she  could  not  help. 

She  lived  on  from  day  to  day,  more  simply  and 
with  less  self-analysis,  in  spite  of  her  curious  position, 
than  ever  before  in  her  life,  for  the  inevitable  day  of 
reckoning  seemed  to  be  the  affair  of  the  Brigit  of 
the  future,  whereas  the  Brigit  of  each  day  was  con 
cerned  only  with  those  particular  twenty-four  hours. 
It  was  enough  to  live  in  close  companionship  with 
the  man  she  loved,  and  when,  as  occasionally  she 
tried  to  do,  she  reasoned  to  herself  about  it,  her  mind 
seemed  paralysed  and  utterly  refused  to  make  plans 
of  any  kind.  So,  twisting  to  her  own  purposes,  as 


THE     HALO  141 

people  do,  the  saying  about  the  evil  of  the  day  being 
unto  itself  sufficient,  she  let  time  slip  away  unre 
marked  and  spring  came. 

It  was  a  cold  rainy  season  that  year,  with  chill 
dark  mornings  and  flickerings  of  pale  sunshine 
later  on. 

People  talked  much  about  the  weather,  and  pretty 
women  shivered  in  their  light  finery.  Tommy,  who 
went  home  for  a  fortnight  in  April,  reported  that 
things  in  the  country  were  deplorable. 

"  Everyone  has  colds,  and  Mr.  Smith  says  there  is 
diphtheria  at  Spinny  Major.  Green  is  disgusted, 
and  from  what  I  can  gather  from  his  cheery  reports, 
everyone  is  going  to  be  ruined  by  agricultural  de 
pression.  The  Mother  of  Hundreds  has  nine  new 
pups — rather  good  ones." 

This  was  at  the  end  of  April,  and  Lord  Kingsmead 
was  coiled  in  a  big  chair  in  his  sister's  room  in  Pont 
Street.  Mr.  Babington,  his  tutor,  had  just  gone  for 
a  walk,  poor  man.  Tommy's  attitude  to  him  had 
from  the  first  been  one  of  polite  tolerance,  and  Mr. 
Babington's  bump  of  humour  being  imperfectly  de 
veloped,  he  in  return  regarded  his  charge  with  some 
thing  like  horror. 

A  boy  of  twelve,  who  knew  only  the  very  first 
principles  of  Latin  (Mr.  Babington  was  number 
three,  the  other  two  having  proved  unsatisfactory  to 
their  employer-pupil),  and  knew  the  multiplication 
table  only  up  to  "  eight-times,"  disturbed  his  tidy  lit 
tle  mind.  There  was,  moreover,  a  youth  in  Sydenham 
who  clamoured  for  Mr.  Babington,  and  who  was 


142  THE     HALO 

after  that  much-tried  young  Oxonian's  heart.  But 
Mr.  Babington  stayed  on,  for — there  was  Brigit,  and 
in  the  evenings  the  tutor  locked  his  door,  smoked 
asthma  cigarettes,  and  wrote  sonnets  by  the  yard  to 
the  Enchantress. 

Tommy,  of  course,  had  at  once  perceived  the  first 
shoots  of  the  hapless  young  man's  baby  passion  as  it 
sprang  up  in  his  heart — which  did  not  make  it  easier 
to  bear,  but  still  Mr.  Babington  stayed  on. 

"  He'll  never  go,  Bick,"  complained  Tommy  that 
afternoon,  after  his  remarks  on  Kingsmead.  "  I  even 
tried  smoking  the  other  day,  but  he  had  a  handker 
chief  of  yours  that  you  left  on  the  hall  table,  and  was 
so  bucked  that  he  barely  noticed  my  iniquity.  He 
is  a  poisonous  person !  " 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  preferred  Mr.  Catt — but  you 
didn't  like  him  either." 

"  How  could  anyone  like  a  fellow  named  Catt?  I 
nearly  choked  every  time  I  had  to  speak  to  him,  and 
so  did  the  Master."  It  was  thus  that  the  boy 
designated  and  addressed  Joyselle.  "  He  used  to 
call  him  Minet.  I  have  learned  that  rotton  old 
multiplication-table,  however,  and  Latin  is  easy.  I 
do  wish,"  he  went  on,  gnawing  at  an  ancient  bit  of 
almond-rock  that  he  had  acquired  at  the  village 
sweetstuff  shop  at  home,  "  that  mother  had  had  me 
well  whacked  when  I  was  a  kid.  It  would  have 
saved  me  no  end  of  trouble  now." 

Brigit  laughed  as  she  dabbed  some  cherry- 
coloured  grease  on  her  pointed  nails.  "  Poor  old 
Tommy!  " 


THE    HALO  143 

The  almond-rock  was  an  impediment  to  fluency  of 
conversation,  but  after  a  moment  Tommy  mastered 
it  and  went  on.  "  I  say,  Bicky,  what's  gone  wrong 
with  Carron?  " 

She  started.    "  I — why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Because  I  think  he  looks  very  ill.  Saw  him 
yesterday  as  I  went  out,  and  hardly  knew  him." 

"  Perhaps  he's  had  influenza,"  she  suggested. 

She  had  not  seen  the  man  for  weeks.  He  had 
been  away  several  times,  and  when  he  had  come  to 
the  house  had  not  asked  for  her.  The  last  time 
they  had  met  they  had,  of  course,  quarrelled,  and  then 
she  had  forgotten  him,  as  she  forgot  everybody  and 
everything  not  brought  directly  under  her  notice. 

In  March  he  had  gone  to  Monte  Carlo  to  see  her 
mother,  who  was  visiting  there,  and  Lady  Kingsmead 
had  told  her  afterwards  that  he  had  been  wretched 
all  during  his  stay.  Brigit  said  she  was  sorry,  but  it 
is  to  be  doubted  if  the  afflictions  of  anyone,  if  not 
directly  affecting  herself,  would  at  that  time  have 
given  her  any  pain,  and  of  all  people  poor  Carron 
was  probably  the  last  with  whom  she  could  feel  any 
real  sympathy. 

Tommy  had  a  bad  throat  and  was  not  to  go  back 
to  Golden  Square  that  night,  but  Brigit  was  dining 
somewhere  with  the  two  Joyselle  men,  and  was  to 
spend  the  night  in  the  now  so-familiar  spare-room, 
with  the  coloured  religious  pictures  on  the  walls. 

Lady  Kingsmead  had  returned  to  town  that  morn 
ing,  but  the  perfect  freedom  she  gained  by  Tommy's 
long  stay  with,  and  her  daughter's  daily  visits  to,  the 


144  THE     HALO 

Joyselles,  had  long  since  overcome  her  first  scruples 
about  "  those  sort  of  people  being  after  all  quite  the 
associates  for  Kingsmead,"  and  had  accepted  Brigit's 
announcement  for  her  intention  with  an  absent  nod. 

"  Very  well,  dear,  and  remind  him  not  to  forget 
that  he  is  dining  here  on  Tuesday.  He  really  is  most 
obliging,  about  playing,  I  must  say." 

"  Yes,  the  poor  creature  has  his  qualities,"  returned 
the  girl,  drily.  Twice  during  the  past  twelve  weeks 
she  had  gone  to  Kingsmead  for  a  day  or  two,  and  on 
each  occasion  her  note,  written  to  the  violinist  at  her 
mother's  suggestion,  asking  him  down  to  dine  and 
spend  the  night,  had  met  with  telegraphic  accept 
ance. 

"  Good-bye,  little  brother." 

"  Good-bye,  Bicky,  give  him  my  love."  Tommy's 
small  eyes  beamed  with  fanatical  affection,  and  Brigit 
kissed  him  again. 

Then  she  went  downstairs,  picked  up  a  passing 
hansom,  and  sped  to  Paradise. 


CHAPTER    SIX 

FELICIE  LOUISE  MARIE  JOYSELLE  was 

sitting  in  her  bedroom,  darning  her  husband's  socks. 

She  sat  in  a  straight-backed  chair  near  the  dressing- 
table,  and  a  huge  basket  of  mending  of  different  kinds 
stood  on  the  floor  by  her  side.  The  room  was  very 
simple,  for  she  loved  the  well-polished  black-walnut 
furniture  among  which  she  had  lived  all  her  married 
life,  and  nothing  would  have  induced  her  to  change 
it  for  new,  however  beautiful. 

The  walls  were  adorned  with  religious  prints,  but 
on  the  space  over  the  dressing-table,  with  its  array  of 
ebony  and  silver  hair-brushes,  was  a  group  of  old, 
faded  photographs,  evidently  all  of  the  same  person 
• — Joyselle;  and  over  the  chimney-piece  hung  four 
large  oval  photographs,  in  varnished  black  frames, 
picked  out  with  narrow  red  stripes;  quite  evidently 
four  middle-aged  peasants  in  their  best  attire.  Near 
the  door  a  coloured  crayon  of  Theo  at  the  age  of  five, 
in  plaid  trousers,  a  short  jacket,  and  a  wide  collar  of 
crochetted  lace,  smiled  sheepishly  down  at  the  world. 
There  was  a  table  covered  with  books  of  the  kind 
whose  gilt  edges  invariably  stick  together,  because 
they  are  never  opened,  and  on  the  little  table  on  the 
left  of  the  broad  bed,  with  its  scarlet  counterpane  and 
huge,  soft-looking  pillows,  were  an  old  black  crucifix 
and  two  shabby  prayer-books. 


146  THE     HALO 

It  was  a  plain,  inartistic  room,  and  the  middle-aged 
woman  whose  holy  of  holies  it  had  been  for  fifteen 
years  was  as  old-fashioned  and  unbeautiful  as  it; 
yet  there  was,  somehow,  about  the  place  a  certain 
atmosphere  of  goodness  and  peace  that  cannot  be 
described  in  words. 

When  Brigit  Mead  came  in  that  afternoon  she 
kissed  Madame  Joyselle  as  usual,  and  then  taking 
off  her  hat  and  coat,  drew  up  another  stiff-backed 
chair  and  sat  down. 

"  How  are  you,  petite  mere?  "  she  asked  gently,  in 
French. 

"  I  am  well,  as  I  always  am,  thank  God.  And  you  ? 
And  Tommy?  " 

'  Tommy  has  a  bad  throat,  but  it  is  nothing.  He 
sent  his  love.  I  am  very  fit." 

Madame  Joyselle  cut  her  cotton,  scrutinised  her 
work  closely,  and  laid  the  sock  down  and  took  up 
another. 

"  Such  a  man  for  wearing  out  socks.  And  always 
the  heels,"  she  remarked.  "  It  would  try  the  patience 
of  anyone!  " 

"  Does  it  try  even  yours?  "  asked  Brigit. 

The  little  woman  looked  up,  her  shrewd  black  eyes 
twinkling  under  their  well-defined  brows.  "  You 
have  observed,  then,  that  I  am  patient?  But  yes, 
my  dear,  God  help  the  wife  of  an  artist  if  she  is  not ! 
He  is  terrible,  my  man,  at  times,  but  luckily  I  was 
born  long-suffering.  He  has,  too,  a  way  of  wrench 
ing  at  button-holes  in  collars  that  tears  them  to  bits, 
and  desolates  me." 


THE     HALO  147 

"  But "  began  the  girl,  and  then  stopped. 

All  things  considered,  there  was  remarkably  little 
constraint  in  her  feelings  for  this  good  woman,  but 
somehow  at  that  moment  she  wished  to  change  the 
subject. 

Madame  Joyselle,  however,  gave  a  gentle  chuckle, 
and  continued :  "  He  was  his  most  terrific  yesterday ! 
Like  a  lion  with  no  self-control;  it  was  very  ridic 
ulous." 

Brigit  started.  Terrible,  yes,  but — it  struck  her  as 
very  unfitting  for  the  great  man's  plain  little  wife  to 
find  him  ridiculous.  And  Felicite,  as  her  husband 
always  called  her,  saw  her  start,  and  understood. 

"  Ah,  yes,  to  you  he  is  the  great  artist  as  well  as 
Theo's  father — hein?  To  me  he  is,  of  course,  just — 
my  husband.  All  men  are,  they  say,  different,  but 
surely  all  husbands  are  much  alike." 

"  There  are  certainly  very  few  men  like — him" 
Brigit  took  a  sock  out  of  the  basket  and  looked  at  it 
absently.  There  was  a  short  silence,  during  which 
Felicite  did  not  speak,  but  she  was  watching  her 
visitor  in  the  glass.  Then  she  said  suddenly,  with  a 
certain  briskness  in  her  voice,  "  Shall  I  tell  you  about 
him?  About  my  husband,  you  know,  not  about  the 
great  artist  of — all  you  others." 

Brigit  nodded.  "  Yes,  please  do.  Tell  me  about 
— long  ago,  in  Normandy." 

"  Bien.  It  will  interest  you.  You  like  him  very 
much,  don't  you  ?  "  she  added,  suddenly,  looking  up 
and  fixing  the  girl  with  her  bright  eyes. 

"Like  him?     Indeed  I  do.     I  think  him  simply 


148  THE     HALO 

glorious,"  was  the  answer,  given  in  a  gushing  voice, 
but  for  a  moment  the  girl  felt  vaguely  uneasy.  Dur 
ing  the  last  twelve  weeks  she  had  not,  although  see 
ing  Joyselle's  wife  every  day,  learned  to  regard  her 
as  a  real  factor  in  the  game.  Joyselle,  always  tender 
and  considerate  of  her,  yet  seemed  to  regard  her  as 
a  kind  of  cross  between  a  mother  and  a  nurse,  and 
she,  never  precisely  retiring,  and  almost  always  pres 
ent  during  Brigit's  visits,  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
used  to  the  role  that  he  assigned  her,  and  sat,  usually 
silent,  a  kindly  spectator  of  whatever  might  be 
going  on. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Brigit  had  realised  that 
she  had  a  real  personality,  and  the  girl  wondered 
at  her  own  blindness,  for  every  line  in  Madame 
Joyselle's  face  meant,  she  now  saw,  an  individual 
ity  stronger  rather  than  weaker  than  the  average 
woman's,  even  in  these  days  of  clamorous  individ 
ualism. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  him — when  he  was  young," 
Lady  Brigit  Mead  continued,  her  thick-looking  white 
eyelids,  eyelids  that  the  hapless  Mr.  Babington  com 
pared  in  his  twenty-second  sonnet  to  magnolia-petals, 
drooping  till  her  lashes  made  shadows  on  her  cheeks. 

And  Felicite  Joyselle  told  her  story. 

"  He  lived  at  St.  Pol — a  mile  from  Falaise  on  the 
way  to  Caen.  His  father  was  gamekeeper  to  M.  de 
Cerisay.  My  father,  Jacques  Rion, — there  is  his 
picture  to  the  right,  with  the  beard, — was  a  tanner  in 
Falaise.  We  were  all  poor,  but  it  was  very  pleasant. 
Falaise  is  a  beautiful  city.  Sometimes  I  used  to 


THE     HALO  149 

think  there  was  nothing  so  beautiful  in  London  as 
the  Place  St.  Gervais  on  a  market-day  in  summer, 
with  the  fountain  playing,  and  all  the  friendly  people 
selling  their  wares.  But  that,"  she  added  simply, 
"  was  before  I  had  seen  the  Albert  Memorial.  Vic 
tor's  mother  used  to  sell  her  fruit  in  the  town,  and 
her  sister  had  married  my  uncle,  anyway !  and  Victor 
used  to  come  with  her.  The  first  time  I  remember 
seeing  him,  however,  was  at  Mass.  It  was  winter, 
and  very  cold,  and  he  kept  blowing  his  hands  to  warm 
them.  I  was  twelve,  and  he  about  ten.  He  was  a 
beautiful  little  boy.  Then  one  day  his  father  brought 
him  to  see  his  aunt — who  had  married  Monsieur 
Chalumeau,  my  uncle,  you  see? — and  I  was  there. 
And  we  went  up  to  the  castle.  You  have  been  there? 
It  is  where  the  Conqueror — who  conquered  England 
• — was  born,  in  a  tiny  little  stone  room  high  above  the 
tower.  You  know  the  story  of  Arlette?  "  Brigit 
nodded,  but  she  did  not  know.  She  wanted  to  hear 
about  Joyselle. 

"Bon.  And  then,  when  I  was  twenty,  and  he 
eighteen,  he  came  back  from  Rouen  where,  did  I  tell 
you? — M.  de  Cerisay  had  sent  him  to  learn  to  play 
the  violin — and  he  told  me  he  wanted  me  to  marry 
him.  He  was  very  splendid  then,  with  city  clothes, 
and  oil  on  his  hair,  and  his  hands  smooth  as  a  gen 
tleman's. 

"  We  were  married  at  St.  Gervais.  Then  he  went 
back  to  Rouen  and  he  studied  again.  That,"  she 
added,  "  was  the  worst  time  of  my  life." 

"  But  why?" 


150  THE     HALO 

The  elder  woman  looked  up.  "  Because — I  was 
just  getting  to  know  him,"  she  returned  slowly,  "  and 
— he  was  very  wild." 

Brigit  nodded  sympathetically.  "  Poor  you,"  she 
said  in  English. 

"  Yes.  The  music  made  him  half-mad,  and  then 
he  had  friends  who  taught  him  to  gamble.  There 
were  other  things,  too.  Women.  He  was  so  hand 
some  and  so  fascinating,  and  his  success  was  just  be 
ginning,  they  all  ran  after  him,  and  he  enjoyed  it. 
I,"  she  added,  "  didn't.  Then  we  went  to  Paris. 
That  was  bad,  too,  only  Theo  was  on  the  way,  which 
made  things  better.  He  was  good  to  me  during  my 
illness — ah,  very  good;  and  beautiful  it  was  to  see 
the  big  strong  man,  mad  with  his  music  and  his  suc 
cess,  washing  the  little  baby  and  dressing  him.  When 
Theo  was  two — Victor  had  been  working  with  his 
violin  since  he  was  fourteen — we  went  to  Berlin,  and 
then  began  his  craze  for  work.  He  used  to  work  four 
and  five  hours  at  a  time  for  months.  Once  his  health 
gave  way,  and  we  were  very  poor,  so  he  went  to  some 
place  for  a  cure,  and  the  little  one  and  I  stayed  at 
home.  Then  he  met  a  great  Prince, — I  can  never 
remember  his  name, — and  he  invited  us  to  stay  with 
him.  It  was  in  a  big  castle  near  Munich.  Victor 
loved  it,  but  I  was  very  miserable.  I  never  went 
anywhere  with  him  again." 

u  Why  were  you  miserable,  petite  mere?  "  Brigit's 
voice  was  very  gentle;  she  seemed  to  see  the  young 
violinist,  handsome  and,  as  his  wife  put  it,  driven 
half-mad  by  his  music,  the  centre  of  attraction  at  the 


THE     HALO  151 

German  castle,  and  his  little  plain  wife  sitting  forlorn 
by  herself,  looking  on. 

"  It  was  a  Lady  Crefinne  Cranewitz," — this  name 
at  least,  she  remembered !  "  This  Crefinne  (it  means 
countess)  was  very  beautiful,  but  too  big;  large  all 
over  like  a  statue,  and  blond.  She  used  to  wear  one 
flower  in  her  bosom  at  dinner,  and  then  give  it  to  him 
afterwards.  Also  she  gave  him  a  lock  of  her  hair.'* 

"  And  what  did  he  give  her?  " 

Felicite  smiled  placidly.  "  He  gave  her — his  love. 
Ah,  yes,  he  loved  her,  his  Crefinne  Gigantesque." 

"  But " 

The  teller  of  the  tale  drew  a  blue  silk  sock  over 
her  hand  and  poked  at  the  hole  in  its  heel  with  a 
thoughtful  needle.  "  He  always  loves  them — for  the 
time,  my  dear.  He  is  of  a  sincerity,  my  man !  " 

Since  the  evening  of  the  dragon-skin  frock  Brigit 
had  done  nothing  to  charm  Joyselle;  he  saw  her 
through  his  own  eyes  now,  and  she,  knowing  that  the 
game  was  in  her  own  hands,  could  afford  to  wait; 
when  the  day  came  when  she  wanted  to  hurt  him  or 
to  further  gratify  her  own  love,  she  could  make  him 
love  her  almost  in  a  moment.  So,  so  far  as  she  knew, 
he  still  enjoyed  her  beauty  without  arriere  pensee, 
although  he  saw  her  through  his  own  eyes,  not 
Theo's.  Yet  now,  at  this  phrase  of  his  wife's,  "  He 
always  loves 'them — for  the  time,"  she  started,  half 
angrily.  When — if — the  day  came  when  he  loved 
her,  would  this  "  clean  old  peasant,"  as  Carron  had 
called  her,  sit  and  darn  his  socks  and  say  to  herself 
—"for  the  time"? 


152  THE     HALO 

"  You  are  very — placid  about  it." 

'*  Yes.  In  the  beginning- — no.  Then  I  was  jealous, 
and  angry.  But  a  jealous  woman  is  always  ridic 
ulous,  my  child,  and  men  are  so  vain  that  the  im 
plied  homage  upsets  them.  Many  a  woman  has  lost 
a  man's  love  through  showing  jealousy.  So — in  time 
I  got  used  to  it,  and  tout  passe"  she  continued  com 
fortably. 

"  And  you  wouldn't  mind  now,  if "  asked 

Brigit,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  her  chin  on  her 
hands. 

Madame  Joyselle  laughed.  "  Wouldn't  mind? 
Oh,  ma  chere!  Just  before  you  came,  he  had  a  very 
bad  turn — it  was  an  Italian  actress — a  pantomimiste, 
with  the  most  beautiful  arms  in  the  world,  and  the 
face  of  a  vicious  little  boy.  And  he?  Epate.  His 
ties  wouldn't  tie,  he  got  new  shoes — fresh  gloves 
every  time  he  went  to  see  her — scent,  a  new  kind,  very 
expensive — he  sent  her  flowers  by  the  cartload,  and 
went  every  evening  to  see  her  act.  Every  day  little 
mauve  letters  and  wires  from  her  (he  always  forgot 
to  burn  them,  and  I  was  afraid  Toinon  might  see 
them),  etc.,  etc.,  etc." 

"  And  how  did  it  end?  "  asked  Brigit,  her  throat 
dry  and  hot.  She  hated  the  pantomimiste. 

"End?  My  faith,  my  dear,  it  is  of  a  simplicity, 
the  end.  You  came." 

«  I  came " 

"  Yes.  And  he  was  so  delighted  with  his  new — 
daughter — that  he  promptly  forgot  his — love." 

"  But  what  did  she  do?" 


THE     HALO  153 

"  She  made  a  fool  of  herself,  poor  thing;  wrote, 
and  telegraphed,  and  threatened  to  kill  herself.  So 
we  sent  Theo  to  see  her,  and  she  quieted  down." 

Brigit  burst  out  laughing.    "  Sent  Theo?  " 

''Yes.  He  always  goes.  He  is  very  quiet  and 
reasonable,  you  see." 

"  I  see." 

Madame  Joyselle  rose.  "  I  must  go  and  see  about 
the  dinner.  Will  you  come?  Ah,  yes,"  as  they  went 
downstairs,  "  they  are  like  that,  the  men.  But  Theo 
will  be  faithful  to  you,  of  that  I  am  sure.  He  is  like 
my  people,  and  then,  thank  God,  he  is  not  an  artist !  " 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

"  ANTOINETTE,  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you." 

"  So  I  ventured  to  gather  from  the  fact  that  you 
have  come  to  see  me." 

It  was  mid-May,  and  a  fragrant  breeze  stirred  the 
delicate  curtains  of  Lady  Kingsmead's  little  drawing- 
room  in  Pont  Street.  There  were  flowers  every 
where,  chiefly  white  lilacs,  and  the  pale  green  and 
white  chintz  and  the  quantities  of  light-hued  pillows 
on  the  sofas  (all  of  which  belonged,  as  yet,  to 
Messrs.  Liberty)  made  of  the  room  a  pleasant  refuge 
from  the  unusual  heat  outside.  Lady  Kingsmead, 
dressed  in  pale  pink,  looked  in  the  faint  light  very 
pretty  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  deep  chair  and  played 
with  the  Persian  cat. 

Carron,  upright  on  his  small  gilt  chair,  was  pale 
and  agitated,  the  primitive  feelings  showing  in  his 
ravaged  face  looking  in  some  way  more  out  of  place, 
because  he  was  exquisitely  frock-coated  and  had  a 
fresh-blown  tea-rose  in  his  button-hole,  than  they 
would  have  done  if  he  had  been  shabby. 

When  Lady  Kingsmead  had  spoken,  he  cleared  his 
throat  and  began  hurriedly:  "  Antoinette — my — my 
wife  is  dead." 

"  Good  Lord,  Gerald,  how  you  startled  me !  Is 
she  really?" 


THE     HALO  155 

"  Yes,  I — I  saw  her  this  morning." 

"  Drink?  "  asked  Lady  Kingsmead,  pleasantly. 

He  frowned.     "  No.     Cancer." 

"How— horrid!" 

She  went  to  him  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  look  ill,  poor  dear.  What  is  the  matter? 
Your  looks  are  a  bit  on  the  blink,  too,  Gerry  I  You 
must  buck  up." 

She  sat  down  and  dabbed  gingerly  at  her  eyes 
with  a  scrap  of  handkerchief.  "  It  is  rather  tragic, 
in  its  very  insignificance,  isn't  it?  Well — what  is  it? 
Is  it  Brigit?" 

Mutely  and  miserably  he  bowed  his  head,  until  she 
saw  the  carefully  concealed  thin  place  on  his  crown. 

"  I  thought  so.  It's  no  good,  Gerald — give  me 
the  cat,  will  you? — she  dislikes  you." 

*'  She  loathes  me.  And  I  would  be  burnt  to  death 
for  her  to-morrow." 

She  started  at  something  in  his  tone — something 
she  had  not  heard  for  years. 

"  Can't  you  get  over  it?" 

"No."   " 

«  Then " 

"  Oh,  my  God,  Tony,  /  don't  know.  Can't — can't 
you  help  me?  " 

"I!" 

"  Yes.  She  can't  love  that  boy;  he  is  utterly  in 
significant.  She's  marrying  him  for  his  money." 

"  No.  She  likes  him.  But,  of  course,  the  money 
helped.  But  she  wouldn't  marry  you  if  you  were  a 
millionaire  yourself.  She  loathes  you.  Always  has." 


156  THE     HALO 

"  I  am  going  mad,  I  think.  I  haven't  slept  for 
months.  Look  at  my  hand,  how  it  shakes;  anyone 
would  think  I  was  a  drunkard !  Look  here,  Tony, 
couldn't  you  ask  her  to  speak  civilly  to  me,  at  least?  " 

She  was  almost  frightened  as  she  looked  at  his 
piteous  face.  He  had  indeed  changed  appallingly  in 
the  last  six  or  eight  months,  and  there  was  a  tremu 
lous  movement  about  his  well-cut  mouth  that  was 
alarming. 

"  Yes,  Gerald,  I'll  ask  her.  I — I  am  awfully  sorry 
for  you." 

"  Thanks.  As  far  as  that's  concerned,  everybody 
in  the  wrorld  ought  to  be  sorry  for  everybody  else. 
We  all  have  our  little  private  hell.  When  is  the — is 
the  wedding-day  fixed?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  returned  hastily,  "  dear  me,  no. 
She  is  in  no  hurry  to  marry,  and  he  is,  of  course, 
dough  in  her  hands.  You,  at  least,  needn't  worry 
about  that.  Will  you  dine  here?" 

«  Sorry " 

"  She  is  to  be  here,  and  Joyselle.  Theo  is  out  of 
town." 

Carron  rose  and  hesitated.  "  Do  you  think  she'd 
mind?  "  he  asked  piteously.  A  sharp  pang  touched 
her  worldly  heart.  If,  years  ago,  she  had  let  him 
go?  If  she  had  not  made  him  give  up  diplomacy 
because  she  wanted  him  in  England?  He  would, 
doubtless,  have  divorced  his  impossible  wife,  and 
married,  and  this  would  not  have  come  to  him. 

"  Of  course  she  won't  mind.  Does  she  know  that 
you  love  her?  " 


THE     HALO  157 

He  nodded.  She  'Stared,  and  then  rang  the  bell. 
"  Bring  Mr.  Carron  a  brandy  and  soda,  Fledge;  he 
is  not  well." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out 
into  the  quiet  street  until  the  man  had  returned  and 
she  heard  Carron  set  down  the  empty  glass. 

Then,  without  looking  at  him,  she  came  back. 
Her  shallow  soul  was  dismayed. 

"  Dinner  at  8.30?  "  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  Yuss.  Good-bye  till  then,  for  I  must  fly  and 
make  some  calls." 

"  Good-bye,  Tony.  You  are  sure  that  boy  isn't 
coming?  I — I  am  getting  to  hate  him " 

"  Nonsense,"  she  laughed  harshly,  for  she  was  not 
merry;  "he  isn't  even  invited.  He  is  in  the  country, 
I  tell  you." 

"  Then,  au  'voir." 

"  Au  'voir,  Gerry." 

He  went  away,  feeling  that  his  cause  perhaps  was 
not  utterly  hopeless. 

And  in  her  gaudy  bedroom,  in  the  caravanserai 
that  had  been  her  idea  of  luxury,  his  wife  lay  dead. 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

WHEN  the  women  had  left  the  dining-room  Car- 
ron  got  up  from  his  place  and  sat  down  by  Joyselle, 
who  looked  at  him  with  unconcealed  astonishment. 
He  had  never  liked  Carron,  and  knew  that  the  man 
did  not  like  him. 

"  When  is  your  next  concert  to  be,  M.  Joyselle?  " 

"  The  third  of  June." 

"  I — I  always  come.  I  have  come  for  years,  and 
last  June  I  heard  you  in  Paris.  You  must  like  play 
ing  with  Colonne." 

"  I  do.  He  is  a  wonderful  director.  But — I  did 
not  know  that  you  liked  music,  Mr.  Carron." 

"  I  have  always  liked  it.  And  no  one  plays  the 
violin  as  you  do." 

He  would  not  have  hesitated  to  lie  about  the  mat 
ter,  had  it  been  necessary,  but  he  happened  to  be 
telling  the  truth,  and  his  weary  voice  carried  con 
viction. 

Joyselle  smiled.    "  I  am  glad,"  he  said. 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  for  a  moment,  and 
much  was  decided  by  their  gaze. 

Carron  broke  the  silence.  "  Did  I  not  see  you  the 
other  day  in  Chelsea.  I  was  motoring,  and  going 
very  fast;  but  I  think  it  was  you." 

"  It  is  possible.    I  have  a  studio  in  Tite  Street.    I 


THE     HALO  159 

go  there  to  practise.  It  is  very  quiet  there,  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  and  I  am  very  nervous  when  I  am 
working." 

Carron  nodded  absently;  this  did  not  interest  him. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  table  one  of  the  Italian  secre 
taries  was  talking  about  the  Ascot  favourite  to 
Freddy  Fane,  who  had  recently  divorced  his  chorus 
girl  and  stopped  drinking,  and  who  was  supposed  to 
be  looked  on  with  a  favourable  eye  by  old  Mrs.  Ban 
ner,  the  aunt  and  chaperon  of  Lady  Mary  Sligo,  the 
prettiest  of  the  season's  debutantes. 

"  Is  that  man  going  to  marry  the  beautiful  girl  I 
saw  on  the  box-seat  of  his  coach  the  other  day?  " 
asked  Joyselle,  suddenly. 

"  I  daresay.  His  mother  died  last  month  and  left 
him  pots  of  money.  Marmalade-pots — Feet's  Peer 
less."  After  a  moment  Carron  pursued,  drawing 
lines  on  the  tablecloth  with  a  fruitknife :  "  I  have 
a  very  fine  violin — left  me  by  my  grandfather.  It  is 
a  Strad,  I  believe.  I  wonder  if  you'd  care  to  see  it?  " 

Joyselle  pursed  up  his  lips.  "  I  should,  but  I  warn 
you,  it  is  probably  an  imposture.  Most  cherished 
violins  are — that  are  in  the  hands  of  non-players." 

"  No  doubt,  but  Sarasate  has  played  on  this  one, 
and  he  believed  it  to  be  genuine." 

"Aha!    When  may  I  come?" 

Carron  named  a  near  day,  and  then  they  went  up 
stairs.  He  had  obtained  his  immediate  object,  and 
now  there  remained  to  him  that  evening  a  far  more 
difficult  task. 

Brigit  was  sitting  by  the  window,  fanning  herself 


i6o  THE     HALO 

with  a  fan  made  of  eagle-feathers.  She  wore  white 
and  looked  very  tired. 

"  May  I  sit  down  here,  Brigit?  " 

She  turned  at  his  voice,  and  then  stared  at  him. 
**  You  look  very  ill,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  is  your 
heart  all  right?  " 

Her  face  did  not  change  as  she  spoke,  and  there 
was  no  friendliness  in  her  tone,  but  he  thanked  God 
that  he  was,  and  looked,  ill. 

"  My  heart  is  weak,  I  believe;  nothing  organic.  It 
is  very  warm,  and  I  never  can  bear  heat.  You  look 
tired  yourself." 

She  nodded  absently.  "  Yes,  I  have  been  away — 
at  the  Bertie  Monson's.  Nelly  Monson  always  gives 
me  a  headache,  she  talks  so  loud.  And  my  room  was 
under  the  nursery.  I  do  hate  children." 

Carron  caught  his  breath.  She  was  actually  talk 
ing  civilly  to  him.  And,  then,  remembering  his  re 
quest  to  her  mother,  he,  for  a  second,  hated  Lady 
Kingsmead  with  a  bitter  and  senseless  hatred.  Was 
Brigit,  after  all,  only  talking  to  him  as  a  favour  to 
her  mother?  But  a  second's  reflection  showed  him 
the  folly  of  this  idea.  Had  Brigit  ever  done  any 
thing  to  please  her  mother?  Never. 

One  of  the  two  women-guests  sat  down  at  the 
piano  and  began  to  play,  very  softly,  an  old  song  of 
Tosti's.  Everybody  listened.  A  hansom  jingled  by 
and  a  bicycle's  sharp  bell  was  a  loud  noise  in  the 
after-dinner  silence. 

Joyselle  was  standing  by  a  table,  absently  balancing 
on  his  forefinger  a  long,  broad,  ivory  paper-knife. 


THE     HALO  161 

He  was,  Brigit  remembered,  curiously  adept  in  bal 
ancing,  and  once  she  had  seen  him  go  through,  for 
Tommy's  amusement,  a  whole  series  of  the  kind, 
from  the  classic  broomstick  on  his  chin,  to  blowing 
three  feathers  about  the  room  at  a  time,  allowing 
none  of  them  to  fall.  How  quickly  he  had  moved, 
in  spite  of  his  great  height,  and  how  Tommy  had 
laughed.  But,  for  the  past  week,  something  had 
gone  wrong  with  the  violinist.  He  had  been  away 
from  the  house  one  day  when  she  went,  and  that 
afternoon,  when  she  "  dropped  in  "  on  her  way  from 
the  station,  he  had  hardly  spoken.  In  his  silence  he 
seemed  immeasurably  far  from  her,  and  she  would 
have  given  worlds  to  read  his  thoughts. 

During  dinner  he  had  been  conventionally  polite, 
but  playing  a  role  was  so  foreign  to  him  that  even 
this  laudable  one  of  pretending  to  be  amused  when 
he  was  bored  sat  gloomily  and  guiltily  on  him. 

Carron  sat  by  her  for  twenty  minutes,  but  her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Joyselle,  and  her  whole  mind  groping 
in  the  darkness  for  his. 

There  was  a  ball  that  night,  so  the  party  broke 
up  early,  but  Joyselle  stayed,  absently,  as  if  he  did 
not  notice  that  the  others  were  going.  He  sat  on  a 
sofa  and  smoked  cigarettes  rapidly,  rolling  them  him 
self,  with  quick,  nervous  movements,  and  throwing 
them  into  a  silver  bowl  before  they  were  half-burnt. 

Lady  Kingsmead  tried  to  talk  to  him,  but  finding 
that,  though  he  answered  her  politely  enough,  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere,  gave  him  up  and  took  up  a 
book,  casting  an  impatient  look  at  her  daughter. 


162  THE     HALO 

Carron  had  gone  early,  too  restless  to  stay  quiet, 
and  afraid  to  rouse  Brigit  out  of  her  curious  lethar 
gic  state. 

For  a  long  time  the  three  people  sat  in  silence, 
and  then  Lady  Kingsmead  rose.  "  I  think  I'll  go 
upstairs,'*  she  said,  "  but  if  you  two  enjoy  sitting  as 
mute  as  fish,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't 
continue  to  do  so.  Good-night,  Joysellc." 

He  rose  and  kissed  her  hands,  and  a  moment  later 
he  and  Brigit  were  alone.  It  was  the  first  time  it  had 
happened,  for  weeks,  the  girl  realised  suddenly. 

He  stood  where  Lady  Kingsmead  had  left  him, 
the  light  falling  directly  on  his  head  in  a  way  that 
showed  up  very  plainly  the  curious  halo-like  effect 
caused  by  the  silver  greyness  of  the  hair  about  his 
brow. 

"  What  is  wrong,  Master?  "  she  asked  softly,  using 
Tommy's  name  for  him.  He  started.  "  The  mat 
ter?  Nothing  that  bears  talking  about,  Brigit.  But 
I  am  in  its  clutches  and  I  will  go." 

A  cold  terror  came  over  her.  Was  it — some 
woman?  "  Do  not  go,"  she  said,  her  cheeks  burning. 
"  I  don't  mind  your  being  silent." 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  raising  his  eyebrows. 
It  was  clear  that  he  noticed  something  strange  in  her 
voice;  also  that  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  But 
he  sat  down  and  began  rolling  a  fresh  cigarette.  The 
flat  silver  box  in  which  he  carried  his  tobacco  lay 
on  the  table  beside  him,  and  she  idly  took  it  up. 
"  Rose-Marie  a  Victor,"  she  saw  engraved  on  it. 
"  What  a  pretty  name !  The  box  is  old,  isn't  it?  " 


THE     HALO  163 

"  Yes.  Or  pretends  to  be.  I  have  had  it  for 
years." 

"And— she?    Rose-Marie?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It  was  twenty  years  ago — in  Paris." 

Felicite's  story  recurred  to  Brigit,  the  "  bad  time  " 
in  Paris;  "  how  he  loved  them  all  for  the  time." 

He  was  smoking  fitfully,  and  frowning  to  himself. 
She  was  again  forgotten.  It  was  very  warm,  and  the 
curtains  swayed  in  irregular  puffs  of  wind ;  then  came 
a  rumble  of  thunder.  Joyselle  started  nervously. 

"  Un  orage!'  he  said;  "  I— I  hate  thunder." 

"  Do  you?  I  like  it."  Together  they  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  up  at  the  threatening  sky.  A 
whirl  of  dust  met  them,  and  they  drew  quickly  back, 
his  sleeve  brushing  against  her  shoulders.  "  It  will 
be  bad,"  he  said,  broodingly. 

"Yes." 

She  felt  breathless  and  welcomed  the  coming  storm 
as  suiting  her  mood. 

"  I — you  asked  me  what  is  the  matter,"  Joyselle 
began,  speaking  very  quickly.  u  I  will  tell  you.  It 
is  this.  There  is  in  me  a  god,  and  I  refuse  to  give  him 
speech.  I  have  genius  and  I  waste  it;  I  have  a  soul 
and  I  am  crushing  it.  I  am  a  most  unworthy  and 
miserable  being!  " 

Absolutely  sincere  in  every  word  he  said,  his 
dramatic  temperament  gave  force  and  a  kind  of 
rhythm  to  his  confession  that  made  it  very  poignant, 
and  his  face  very  white,  his  big  eyes  glowed  tragically 
as  he  stood  looking  over  his  hearer's  head. 

"  A  most  miserable  being." 


1 64  THE     HALO 

He  groaned,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  chair, 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Outside  one  or  two  carriages  hurried  past,  and 
the  darkness  was  streaked  with  quick  recurring  flashes 
of  lightning. 

Brigit  looked  long  at  Joyselle,  and  then,  irresistibly 
drawn  to  him,  laid  her  hand  with  great  gentleness  on 
his  head.  "  You  are  tired,  and  the  storm  has  got 
on  your  nerves. " 

"  No,  no !  I  am  not  tired.  There  is  for  my  great 
good-for-nothingness  not  that  excuse.  I  am — a 
wastrel  of  my  gifts."  It  was,  she  saw,  one  of  the 
crises  of  despair  under  which  many  artists  suffer,  but 
its  intensity  was  most  painful.  "  You  are  good  to 
me,  Brigitte,"  he  said,  brokenly,  taking  her  left  hand 
and  holding  it  to  his  forehead,  which  was  cold  and 
damp.  "  You  are  an  angel!  " 

As  he  spoke  a  terrific  zigzag  of  fire  crossed  the 
windows,  and  the  house  shook  in  the  almost  immedi 
ate  crash.  Like  a  child  Joyselle  threw  his  arms 
round  Brigit  and  hid  his  face  against  the  embroidery 
on  her  corsage,  holding  her  tight.  It  seemed  to  her 
an  eternity  before  either  of  them  moved,  and  when, 
abruptly,  he  let  her  go,  and  rose,  his  face  had 
changed. 

"  Good-bye — I  must  go — I  beg  your  pardon " 

He  stammered  piteously,  and  did  not  look  at  her, 
but  stood  holding  the  lapels  of  his  coat  as  if  he  was 
trying  to  tear  them  off.  Then,  without  another  word, 
he  was  gone,  out  into  the  storm. 


CHAPTER   NINE 

BRIGIT  was  not  at  all  surprised  when,  early  the 
next  morning,  a  note  from  Joyselle  was  brought  to 
her. 

She  had  slept  very  badly,  for  she  seemed  to  have 
reached  a  crisis  in  her  relations  with  Joyselle;  and 
lying  awake  in  the  heat  that  the  storm  had  but  in 
creased,  she  passed  hours  in  unprofitable  forecast- 
ings.  What  would  he  do,  now  that  he  knew  ?  Would 
he  make  love  to  her?  Or  would  he  try  to  hurry  on 
the  wedding?  Or 

Of  course,  what  he  did  do  proved  an  utter  surprise 
to  her. 

"  MY  DEAR  BRIGIT,"  he  wrote,  "  just  a  line  to  say 
good-bye  to  you  for  a  time.  I  am  accepting  an  offer 
to  do  two  months'  touring  in  the  United  States 
(which  country  I  do  not  like,  but  which  likes  me), 
and  shall  come  back  laden  with  dollars  with  which 
to  buy  you  a  beautiful  wedding  present.  What  shall 
it  be — diamonds?  I  hope  you  will  say  lace — yards 
and  yards  of  exquisite  lace  of  all  kinds — it  is  so 
much  more  poetic  than  stones.  So  au  revoir, 
my  dear,  and  may  all  happiness  be  yours. 

"  JOYSELLE." 

She  sat  up  in  bed  and  drew  a  long,  uneven  breath. 


i66  THE     HALO 

She   had  not  counted  on  the  possibility  of  flight  I 
And  she  could  not  bear  it. 

There  had  been  some  talk  of  his  going  to  America, 
but  he  had  disliked  the  idea,  and  she  had  not  dreamed 
that  he  would  even  seriously  consider  it.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  his  decision  was  entirely 
due  to  the  little  scene  of  the  evening  before.  That 
moment  when  his  nervous  horror  of  the  lightning 
had  impelled  him  to  put  his  arms  round  her  had,  she 
knew,  opened  his  eyes  to  his  own  danger.  And  it 
was  characteristic  of  the  man  to  act  immediately 
and  without  hesitation.  He  would  go — it  was 
Saturday,  and  very  probably  he  would  leave  by  the 
noon  train  for  Liverpool.  It  was  now  eight. 

She  lay  for  a  long  time  with  her  eyes  shut,  trying 
to  realise  what  life  would  be  like  without  him.  And 
then  her  undisciplined,  wayward  mind  revolted.  It 
was  unbearable;  therefore  she  would  not  bear  it. 
She  would  not  let  him  go. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  in  a  hansom,  trying  to 
decide  the  details  relative  to  her  decision.  He  should 
not  go,  but  which  of  the  several  possible  ways 
should  she  employ  to  prevent  it? 

Before  she  could  decide  on  anything  more  than 
the  great  fact  that,  cost  what  it  may,  she  would  not 
let  him  go,  the  hansom  drew  up  at  the  house,  and 
she  was  about  to  get  out  when  the  front  door  opened 
and  Joyselle  himself  appeared. 

'  You !  "  he  cried,  impetuously,  and  then  stood 
still.  "  You  got  my  note?  "  he  added  a  second  later, 
sternly. 


THE     HALO  167 

Her  heart  sank.  He  was  very  strong.  Then  he 
came  towards  her,  his  brows  drawn  down  over  his 
eyes,  his  nostrils  dilated,  and  she  lied. 

"  No — what  note?  " 

Normans  are  quick  to  suspect  deceit,  and  for  a 
moment  his  expression  did  not  change;  then,  for  in 
dividually  the  man  was  as  trustful  as  racially  he  was 
suspicious,  he  smiled.  "  I  see.  But  why  are  you 
out  so  early?  It  is  not  yet  nine." 

"And  you?"  she  returned  deftly,  her  heart  beat 
ing  not  only  with  the  excitement  of  the  duel,  but 
with  enjoyment  of  her  own  skill. 

"  I — well,  I  have  business." 

"  Then  get  in  and  I'll  take  you  wherever  you  want 
to  go,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

He  hesitated,  but  she  smiled  at  him  and  he  suc 
cumbed,  thinking  to  himself,  she  could  see,  that  after 
all  she  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  his 
mind. 

As  he  took  his  place  beside  her  the  cabman  opened 
his  trap-door  and  asked  with  the  hoarseness  of  his 
kind: 

"Were  to,  sir?" 

Joyselle  frowned.  "  To — Piccadilly.  I'll  tell  you 
when  we  get  to  where  I  wish  to  stop." 

Brigit  suppressed  a  smile.  Now  he  was  thinking, 
she  saw,  that  he  would  tell  her  of  his  intended  de 
parture  before  he  gave  the  Cunard  Company's  ad 
dress. 

He  was  pale,  but  to  her  surprise  looked  younger 
rather  than  older  than  usual.  His  mental  disturbance 


168  THE     HALO 

had  left  traces  on  his  face,  and  they  were,  as  it  was, 
young  in  their  nature.  He  had  fallen  in  love,  and 
the  youth  in  him,  both  physical  and  mental,  flared 
up  responsively  to  the  call  of  the  emotion. 

Suddenly  she  saw  her  line  of  action  clearly  marked 
out  for  her,  and  without  an  instant's  hesitation  took 
it.  If  he  suspected  that  she  loved  him,  nothing  in 
the  world  could  keep  him  by  her.  So  he  must  not 
know.  In  all  her  dreams  and  reflections  about  their 
relations,  she  had  never  taken  into  account  the  possi 
bility  of  things  turning  out  as  they  had.  She  had 
always  tacitly  taken  for  granted  that  it  would  be  by 
her  will  that  the  man  should  be  waked  up  to  the 
real  state  of  his  own  mind.  Even  after  the  evening 
of  the  dragon-skin  frock  he  had  not  known  the  real 
explanation  of  his  amazement  on  her  entrance,  and 
had,  she  knew,  merely  advanced  in  his  perlious  path 
to  the  point  of  realising  that  she  was,  although  his 
future  daughter,  an  amazingly  desirable  woman. 

So  far  she  had  read  him  correctly.  But  that  some 
thing  outside  her  own  personal  sway  should  open 
his  eyes  she  had  not  anticipated. 

This  had,  however,  happened,  and  with  the  acute 
intuition  of  a  woman  fighting  for  her  life,  she  under 
stood  what  she  must  do  to  prevent  his  flight. 

So,  turning  towards  him,  she  smiled  amusedly. 

"Eh,  b'eny  Beau-papa?  Got  over  your  fright? 
You  big  baby!" 

He  stared,  and  she  went  on  without  a  pause,  but 
speaking  slowly,  to  give  an  idea  of  leisure,  "  To  think 
that  you  of  all  people  should  be  afraid  of  thunder! 


THE     HALO  169 

It  was  lucky  you  had  your  valorous  daughter  to 
shield  you." 

He  gave  a  short,  nervous  laugh.  "  Yes,  it  is  very 
idiotic,  I  know,  but " 

"  And  then  to  bolt  away  into  the  very  thick  of  it! 
That  was  because  you  were  ashamed!  I  shall  tell 
petite  mere  and  Theo.  But  it  was  an  awful  storm, 
and  so  fearfully  warm  afterwards,  wasn't  it?  I 
couldn't  sleep  at  all — that's  why  I'm  up  so  early.  I 
came  over  to  ask  you  to  go  up  to  Hampstead  with 
me  to  get  some  real  air.  This  London  extract  of  air 
is  a  very  poor  substitute,  isn't  it  ?  Now  don't  say  no 
to  a  poor  daughter  whose  young  man  is  out  of 
town !  " 

As  she  talked,  looking  casually  at  the  passers-by, 
she  could,  so  tense  were  her  nerves,  almost  hear  him 
think.  "  She  is  quite  unsuspecting,"  he  was  telling 
himself,  "  there  is  no  danger  for  her,  and — it  doesn't 
matter  about  me.  And  I  am  strong  and  need  never 
betray  myself " 

She  talked  on,  the  kind  of  unconcerned  nonsense 
that  was,  her  strange,  new  instinct  told  her,  best  cal 
culated  to  quite  his  vibrant  nerves.  "  Little  child, 
little  child,"  he  returned  mutely,  "  how  little  you 
know !  Well — as  you  are  so  innocent,  why  should 
not  I  snatch  this  fearful  joy  while  I  may?  It  harms 
no  one  but  myself,  and  such  pain  is  better  than  any 
happiness  on  earth " 

"  Yes,  ma  fille,"  he  said  at  length,  as  she  pointed 
to  a  barrow  of  nodding  daffodils,  "  we  will  go  to 
Hampstead;  it  is  a  good  idea.  But  first  I  must  send 


170  THE     HALO 

a  wire  or  two.  And — you  must  promise  to  return 
to  me,  unopened,  the  note  you  will  find  in  Pont 
Street." 

Her  wandering  stare  was  admirable.  "  Return 
unopened?  But  why?  Was  it — cross?" 

He  laughed  aloud,  his  brilliant  teeth  flashing. 
"Si,  si,  that  is  it.  Cross!  You  know  how  stupid  I 
was  last  night?  The  coming  storm — well — it  was  a 
silly  note,  and  you  will  return  it." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  wish  me  to,"  she  answered 
carelessly,  but  clenching  her  hands.  "C'cst  unc 
boutade  comme  une  autrel" 

He  laughed  again.  His  spirits  were  flying  upwards 
like  those  of  a  criminal  unexpectedly  reprieved. 

"  Yes — just  a  fad.  Hi,  cabbce,  stop  here,  will 
you?" 

While  he  was  in  the  telegraph-office  Brigit  allowed 
her  muscles  to  relax  and  her  face  to  express  her 
hitherto  rigidly  concealed  triumph. 

He  was  not  going.  He  would  stay;  she  should 
continue  to  see  him,  and  the  world  was  full  of  joy. 
"Heavens,  how  I  can  lie,"  she  whispered  softly, 
"  and  now  we  shall  both  have  to  lie.  We  both  know 
about  him;  he  thinks  I  don't  know;  and  he  doesn't 
know  about  me !  It  is  a  comedy.  Oh,  Victor,  Vic 
tor,  Victor !  " 

He  came  out  a  moment  later,  seeming  to  fill  the 
world  with  his  giant  bulk  and  his  astounding  radia 
tion  of  joy.  Two  narrow-chested  city  clerks  stood 
still  to  stare  at  him,  their  pallid  little  faces  blank  with 
amazement.  A  red-nosed  flower-girl  thrust  a  great 


THE     HALO  171 

bunch  of  yellow  roses  up  at  him  with  certainty  of 
sale  written  all  over  her.  "  Roses?  Of  course.  How 
much?" 

He  laughed  aloud  as  he  gave  her  some  money  and 
then  got  into  the  hansom. 

"  Hampstead  Heath,  cabby.  At  Falaise  there  are 
millions  of  these  roses — see,  with  the  outside  leaves 
wrinkled  and  red.  Oh,  Brigit,  Brigit,  what  a  day!  " 


CHAPTER  TEN 

IF  it  be  true  that  everything  is  in  the  eye  of  the  be 
holder,  then  Joyselle's  and  Brigit  Mead's  eyes  must 
have  been  full  of  beauties  that  day. 

For  to  them  Hampstead  Heath  was  the  most  mar 
vellously  lovely  place  on  earth. 

His  light-heartedness,  chiefly  due  to  his  faculty  for 
ignoring  side-issues  and  enjoying  the  present,  was  of 
course  magnified  as  well  by  the  fact  that  it  followed 
close  on  the  heels  of  one  of  his  despairing  black  fits. 
Yesterday  he  had  been,  because  of  an  unsatisfactory 
morning's  work  in  Chelsea,  in  the  very  depths, 
honestly  despising  himself  as  an  artist,  sincerely  loath 
ing  his  incorrigible  love  of  amusement  and  conse 
quent  wasting  of  time. 

So  this  sunny,  rather  windy  morning,  Brigit  by  his 
side,  and  his  newly  awakened  conscience  stilled  for 
the  moment,  was  to  him  as  near  Paradise  as  anything 
he  could  imagine. 

They  lunched  somewhere — neither  of  them  could 
ever  remember  where — on  very  tough  cold  ham  and 
insufficiently  cooled  beer,  but  they  were  both  too 
happy  to  mind,  or  even  to  observe  the  faults  of  the 
menu.  And  as  neither  of  them  had  ever  before  set 
eyes  on  the  Heath,  it  was  full  of  surprises,  as  well  as 
of  beauties.  Yielding  to  some  unexplained  instinct, 
they  both  took  off  their  hats  (what  is  it  that  induces 


THE     HALO  i?3 

people  to  uncover  their  heads  in  high  places?),  and 
the  warm  sun  shone  down  on  their  hair. 

"Your  hair  must  be  very  long,  Brigitte?" 
observed  Joyselle  once,  as  he  looked  at  her  silky  plaits 
that  covered  her  crown  in  disregard  of  the  laws  of 
fashion. 

"  It  is.    Comes  to  my  knees.    Oh,  look !  " 

Two  people,  a  man  and  a  girl,  sat  in  the  shade  of 
an  isolated  tree  only  a  few  yards  below  the  place 
where  they  stood.  They  were  evidently  enjoying  an 
unlawful  holiday,  for  they  were  workers — factory 
hands,  probably,  and  they  were  as  palpably  rejoicing 
in  their  freedom. 

The  girl,  whose  brilliant  red  hair  was  pulled  out 
at  the  sides  until  her  head  was  as  big  as  a  bushel 
basket,  wore  a  pink  blouse  and  a  green  skirt.  The 
youth,  stunted  and  pale,  was  gorgeous  only  as  to  tie, 
but  quite  evidenly  she  considered  him  her  comple 
ment.  For  they  were  busy  drinking  beer  from  a 
bottle,  turn  about,  and  kissing  each  other  delightedly 
between  swallows.  Joyselle  started,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  and  Brigit,  without  moving  her  head,  looked 
at  him  sideways,  as  the  so-called  Fornarina  looks  in 
the  Uffizi,  in  Florence. 

"  They  are  cheery,  aren't  they?  "  she  asked  hastily, 
and  he,  nodding,  turned  away.  For  a  few  moments 
he  was  silent,  and  then  he  began  to  talk  rather  loudly 
about  nothing  in  particular,  and  in  a  few  moments 
was  himself — the  Joyselle  of  that  particular  day. 
Brigit  realised  that  their  stronghold  of  reserves  and 
lies  had  been  dangerously  threatened  by  his  mount- 


174  THE     HALO 

ing  emotion.  If  he  had  broken  down  in  his  role — 
and  she  knew  that  the  playing  of  any  kind  of  a  role 
was  foreign  to  his  nature,  and  therefore  perlious — 
she  would  have  lost  him. 

His  mind,  of  course,  except  in  certain  moments 
when  it  all  unconsciously  was  subjugated  by  her  will, 
was  a  closed  book  to  her. 

For  he  was  not  only  a  man  (and  no  woman  can 
ever  wholly  understand  any  man's  mind) ,  but  he  was 
nearly  twenty  years  older  than  she,  and  he  was  a 
Norman — a  race  very  complicated,  in  its  mixture  of 
shrewd  cunning  and  simplicity,  and  difficult  for  even 
other  French  people  to  comprehend.  But  groping  in 
the  dark  though  she  was,  the  girl  had  grasped  two 
essential  facts:  if  Joyselle  learned  that  she  loved  him, 
he  would  go  away  if  it  killed  him;  and  if,  though 
remaining  in  ignorance  of  her  love,  he  was  led  to 
betray  his,  the  result  would  be  the  same. 

So  her  aim  must  be  to  keep  him  well  under  his  own 
control,  and  to  avoid  betraying  her  personal  feelings 
in  the  very  least  degree. 

It  was  easy  that  first  day.  He  was  still  more  or 
less  dazed  and  taken  up  with  his  discovery  that  he 
loved  her,  and  therefore  not  so  shrewd  as  usual.  The 
future,  she  knew,  would  be  harder. 

But  that  one  day  was  a  delight  to  them  both.  He 
told  her  about  his  youth — as  truthful  an  account  as 
his  wife's,  but  oh,  how  infinitely  more  picturesque 
and  interesting. 

His  acquistion  of  the  Amati  was  recounted  with  a 
wealth  of  detail  that  enchanted  her,  and  she  closed 


THE     HALO  175 

her  eyes  the  better  to  see  the  little  dark  shop  on  the 
qual  at  Rouen,  and  the  old  man  who  would  not  sell 
his  treasure,  even  for  a  good  price,  until  he  had  heard 
the  would-be  purchaser  play  on  it.  "  And  then,  my 
dear,  I  tuned  it,  and  played.  It  was  a  bit  from 
Tschaikovsky's  Pathetic  Symphony — the  adagio 
movement.  It  was  dark  in  the  shop,  with  the  velvety 
darkness  old  places  get  on  a  sunny  day,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street  lay  the  sunshine  like  gold. 
He  sat,  le  vieux,  in  his  chair  away  from  the  light,  for 
his  eyes  were  bad,  and  listened.  And  I  played  well, 
for  I  was  playing  for  the  greatest  price  I  had  ever 
commanded!  " 

"  And  then?  "  she  asked  softly,  stroking  her  cheek 
with  some  young  beech-leaves. 

"  And  then  he  kissed  me,  and — I  took  out  my 
cheque-book,"  returned  Joyselle  simply. 

It  was  after  four,  and  the  wind  had  gone  down, 
freeing  the  common  from  the  beautiful  cloud-streams 
that  had  chased  over  it  earlier  in  the  day. 

The  red-headed  girl  and  her  young  man  had  dis 
appeared,  and  from  where  they  sat  Joyselle  and 
Brigit  saw  no  signs  of  life. 

"  To-morrow  it  will  be  crowded  with  odious 
people,"  Brigit  sighed. 

"  Why  odious?" 

"  Well,  I  mean  vulgar,  noisy  people." 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  way  that  ruffled  his  halo 
of  silver  hair,  and  laughed. 

"  You  should  not  be  a  snob,"  he  teased.  "  After 
all,  you  are  marrying  the  son  of  peasants." 


176  THE     HALO 

"  Peasants  are  different,"  she  insisted,  a  little 
sulkily. 

"  Peasants  are  picturesque  only  in  books,  my  dear. 
As  for  me,  I  like  happy  people,  and  even  your 
English  '  noisy  and  vulgar '  ones  are  happy,  I  sup 
pose,  when  they  come  up  here  on  Sunday.  Some  day 
you  and  I  will  come  again.  And  bring  Theo,"  he 
added  suddenly. 

Then  he  rose.  "  Come,  we  had  better  start  to 
walk  back."  She  obeyed  in  silence. 

"  If  I  had  not  had  genius,"  he  continued  as  they 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope  and  turned  home 
wards,  "  I  should  be  now — what?  A  Norman 
peasant  in  a  black  blouse  driving,  probably,  a  char-a- 
bancs  to  sell  my  fruit — or  my  corn.  I  could  never 
have  been  a  gamekeeper  like  my  father,  for  I  cannot 
kill.  And  if  you,  then,  had  come  to  Falaise  and  gone 
to  the  market,  you  might  have  bought  a  pennyworth 
of  cherries  of  me.  And  all  this  might  have  been  if  I 
had  not,  one  day,  heard  an  old  half-witted  blind  man 
play  a  cracked  fiddle  on  the  high  road,  thirty  years 
ago!" 

She  frowned,  for  she  hated  this  kind  of  talk.  It 
was  too  true,  and  it  hurt  her  baser  pride,  even  while 
her  nobler  pride  rejoiced  in  the  very  humbleness  of 
his  origin  because  it  emphasised  his  present  greatness. 

"  But — you  are  you,  and  I  am  only — me,"  she 
returned,  ungrammatical  but  proudly  humble. 

He  turned,  his  face  flushing  brilliantly.  "  Then 
you  are  proud  of  me?  "  he  cried. 

Danger  again.     After  a  long  pause,  which  visibly 


THE     HALO  177 

hurt  him,  she  returned  with  a  smile,  "  Of  course  I 
am.  Who  would  not  be  proud  of  such  a  father-in- 
law?" 

Half  an  hour  later  it  was  all  over,  the  wonderful 
day  was  finished,  and  to  Brigit's  amazement  she  was 
more  than  a  little  glad.  It  had  been  delightful,  but 
it  had  been  full  of  danger. 

In  time  Joyselle  would  learn  to  evade  these  pit 
falls,  with  which  their  future  seemed  to  bristle,  but 
as  yet  he  was  so  unused  to  avoiding  things  in  his 
path  that  it  was  almost  a  miracle  that  she  had,  as 
she  put  it  with  a  half-whimsical,  half-despairing 
smile,  got  him  safely  home  without  an  outburst. 

She  was,  had  been  from  the  first,  fairly  sure  of 
herself,  but  she  was  wise  enough  to  acknowledge 
that  her  strength  depended  largely  on  his.  If  he 
had  broken  down,  she  knew  that  the  odds  were 
largely  against  her  being  able,  in  her  inevitable 
despair  over  his  certain-to-follow  good-bye,  to  con 
tinue  to  hide  her  own  feelings.  And  after  that,  she 
believed,  he  would  never  see  her  again. 

So  it  was  with  a  strong  feeling  of  relief  that  she 
said  good-bye  to  him,  half-way  home,  and  went  on 
alone. 

As  the  hansom  started  again  she  turned  and  looked 
back.  Joyselle  stood,  hat  in  hand,  where  she  had 
left  him,  his  face,  now  that  he  believed  himself  to  be 
unseen  by  her,  black  with  thought.  Then,  with  the 
so  familiar  jerk  of  his  head,  he  put  on  his  hat,  smiled, 
and  marched  off  down  the  street. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

ONE  afternoon,  a  few  days  later,  Tommy  Kings- 
mead  burst  into  his  sister's  room  where  she  was 
sitting  writing. 

«  I  say,  Bick " 

"  Hello,  little  boy,  what's  the  matter?  " 

Tommy  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  close  imitation 
of  Joyselle. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  something  is.  Very.  It's — 
Theo!" 

She  started.    "Theo?    He  isn't  ill,  is  he?  " 

"  No,  no.  He's  downstairs ;  wants  to  see  you. 
There's  been  some  kind  of  a  row  in  Golden  Square. 
Petite  mere  and  the  Master  have  been  talking  for 
an  hour,  as  hard  as  ever  they  can  talk,  and  Theo  is 
upset,  and  the  Master  has  gone  off  in  a  tearing  rage 
— do  go  down  and  find  out,  Brigit,  and  then  come 
back  and  tell  me." 

Lord  Kingsmead's  pristine  curiosity  regarding 
everything  with  which  he  came  into  contact  had  by 
no  means  suffered  eclipse  since  he  had  been  living 
in  London. 

Devoted  as  he  was  to  Joyselle  and  to  his  music, 
the  little  boy's  passion  for  knowledge  of  all  kinds 
seemed  to  increase,  and  there  was  in  his  small,  pale, 
pointed  face  a  strained,  overkeen  look  that  troubled 
his  sister  at  times.  Now,  however,  she  had  no  leisure 


THE     HALO  i79 

to  think  of  it,  and  hurried  downstairs  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  she  found  Theo  walking  restlessly  up 
and  down. 

"  Brigit,"  he  burst  out  abruptly,  as  she  came  in, 
"when  will  you  marry  me?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Theo — what — what  has  put  that 
into  your  head?"  she  parried  ineffectively,  sitting 
down,  as  he  did  not  offer  to  give  her  any  further 
greeting. 

"  Into  my  head?  Has  it  ever  been  out  of  it?  I 
am  sorry  to  have  startled  you,  dear,"  he  continued, 
more  gently,  sitting  down  by  her  and  taking  her 
hands  in  his,  "  but  surely  I  have  been  patient.  And 
— I  am  tired  of  waiting." 

She  sat  with  bent  head,  looking  at  their  joined 
hands.  His  hands  were  smaller  and  whiter  than  his 
father's,  but  very  like  them  in  shape.  If  they  had 
been  Joyselle's !  If  he  had  been  able  to  come  to  her 
with  that  question:  "  When  will  you  marry  me?  " 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said  slowly,  after  a  long 
pause. 

"Then—?" 

"  Suppose  you  tell  me  why  this  sudden  frenzy  of 
haste?" 

He  hesitated.  "  Well — we  have  been  engaged 
nearly  eight  months — and  I  love  you,  dear." 

But  she  remembered  Tommy's  story  and  persisted. 

"  Surely,  though,  something  must  have  happened 
to-day?  You  were  quite  content  yesterday." 

He  flushed.  "  Eh  bien,  oui.  It  is  that  my  grand 
mother  has  written.  In  September  is  to  be  their 


i8o  THE     HALO 

Golden  Wedding.  They  are  very  old,  and — they 
want — me  to  bring  my  wife  to  them.  Brigit,"  he 
added,  his  boyish  face  flushing  with  anticipatory 
pink,  "  may  I  not  do  it?  " 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  her  temples 
beating  violently.  For  weeks  Theo  had  played  such 
a  subordinate  role  in  her  mind,  owing  as  much  to 
his  native  modesty  as  to  her  absorption  in  his  father, 
that  his  mood  of  to-day  came  to  her  as  a  shock. 
After  all,  put  the  thought  away,  forget  the  inevit 
able  future  in  an  almost  hysterical  enjoyment  of  the 
present,  as  she  would,  it  must  be  faced  some  time. 
Could  she  possibly  marry  this  boy  whom  her  senti 
mental  contemporaneousness  with  his  father  naturally 
seemed  to  relegate  to  a  generation  younger  than 
herself? 

It  would  be  horrible,  unnatural.  A  husband,  be 
he  ever  so  modern,  and  his  wife  ever  so  unruly,  is  in 
the  nature  of  things  more  or  less  a  master,  whereas, 
she  realised  with  a  flash  of  very  miserable  amuse 
ment,  she  would,  if  displeased  with  him,  feel  less 
inclined  to  use  wifely  diplomacy  than  to  box  his 
ears.  Emphatically,  she  had  hopelessly  outgrown 
him.  Then,  what  should  she  do? 

If  she  refused  him  now,  what  would  be  his  father's 
attitude?  She  did  not  know.  A  week  ago  Joyselle 
would  have  hated  her — or  thought  that  he  did, 
which  is  practically  the  same  thing  pro  tern. 

But  now!  Now  that  the  violinist  had  had  time 
to  face  and  measure  his  own  passion,  would  he  not 
realise  the  futility  of  trying  to  force  one's  inclinations 


THE     HALO  181 

in  such  matters?  Again  she  could  only  shake  her 
head;  she  was  out  of  her  depth.  Meantime,  behind 
her,  Theo  was  waiting  for  his  answer.  Suddenly 
the  horrors  of  the  situation  seemed  to  burst  on  her 
from  all  sides.  What  had  she  done?  Accepted  this 
boy  because  he  had  money,  and  because  she  disliked 
her  mother  and  her  mother's  friends;  then  she  had, 
finding  that  she  loved  her  future  father-in-law,  de 
liberately  torn  from  his  eyes  the  veil  of  family  senti 
ment  that  had  protected  him  from  her,  and  later, 
when  he  had  by  an  accident  learned  that  she  was  to 
be  loved,  and  that  he  loved  her,  she  had  by  an  ignoble 
trick  kept  him  in  England,  refusing  to  let  him  play 
the  decent  part  he  had  chosen.  What  was  she,  then, 
to  have  done  this  abominable  and  traitorous  thing? 

"  Brigit — is  it  so — horrible  to  you?" 

There  was  in  his  voice  something  like  a  repressed 
sob,  and  she  had  an  extravagant  horror  of  melo 
drama.  If  he  wept  she  would,  she  knew,  lose  her 
temper. 

"  Listen,  Theo.  I — I  will  tell  you  to-night.  I 
mean,  I'll  set  a  date.  Only  you  must  go  now.  I — I 
have  an  engagement." 

«  Then " 

"  Then  you  are  a  goose  to  be  so  upset !  I  must 
think  it  over.  I  know  I'm  queer  and — rather  horrid, 
but — I  have  not  changed.  You  knew  what  I  was 
when  you  asked  me  to  marry  you.  And — I  never 
pretended  to  be — romantic,  did  I  ?  " 

He  watched  her  dumbly.  She  had  never  looked 
to  him  more  beautiful  than  at  that  moment  in  her 


i82  THE     HALO 

simple  blue  frock,  her  hands  behind  her,  her  eyes 
almost  deprecating.  He  rose  with  an  effort.  "  All 
right,  then.  To-night.  Thank  you,  Brigit." 

As  full  of  humble  doubts  as  he  had  been  the 
night  he  asked  her  to  marry  him,  his  honest  eyes 
shining  with  the  tears  she  had  arrested  in  their  course, 
he  kissed  her  hand  and  withdrew. 

When  she  had  heard  the  front  door  close  she  went 
to  a  mirror  on  the  wall  and  looked  at  herself. 

"  And  now,  you  loathsome  creature,"  she  said 
aloud,  fiercely,  "  you  must  make  up  your  mind  what 
you  are  going  to  do." 

Like  many  nervous  people,  she  had  a  habit  of 
walking  while  she  thought  hard,  and  now  after  a 
few  turns  up  and  down  the  overcrowded  room  she 
went  upstairs,  put  on  a  hat,  and,  leaving  the  excited 
Tommy  a  prey  to  a  most  maddening  attack  of 
thwarted  curiosity,  left  the  house. 

She  walked  rapidly,  looking  straight  ahead,  seeing 
nothing,  a  rather  ferocious  frown  causing  many 
people  to  stare  at  her  in  surprise.  She  wore  a  deli 
cately  hued  French  frock  and  a  mauve  hat  covered 
with  blue  convolvuli,  but  in  her  extraordinary  self- 
absorption  and  intentness  of  thought  there  was 
something  uncivilised  about  her.  Her  clothes  were 
unsuited  to  her,  and  she  walked  as  if  quite  alone  in 
a  vast  plain. 

Her  answer  to  Theo?  What  was  it  to  be?  Should 
she  find  it  here,  in  Sloane  Street?  How  could  she 
decide,  not  having  the  remotest  idea  what  effect  her 
decision  would  have  on  Joyselle?  Could  she  live 


THE     HALO  183 

without  him  ?  As  things  now  stood,  he  might,  on  her 
announcement  that  she  was  willing  to  marry  Theo 
in,  say,  three  months'  time,  fly  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  that  he  might  hide  his  own  suffering,  or — he 
might  have  the  strength  to  endure  it  in  silence  for  his 
son's  sake. 

If  on  the  other  hand  she  said  no,  that  she  could 
not  marry  his  son,  would  he  look  on  her  decision  as 

perfidy,  and  refuse  to  see  her  ever  again,  or A 

man  in  a  hansom  swore  softly  with  relief  as  she  just 
escaped  being  knocked  down  by  his  horse,  and  quite 
unconscious  of  her  danger,  hurried  on,  her  head 
bent. 

Or — would  he  then — allow  himself  to  love  her — 
to  love  her  frankly,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned? 

At  the  corner  of  Sloane  Square  a  man  coming 
towards  her  saw  her  trance-like  condition,  and  stop 
ping  short,  forced  her  almost  to  run  into  his  arms. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  began  mechanically,  and 
then  her  face  changed.  "  You,  Gerald !  How  d'ye 
do?" 

She  had  not  seen  him  for  days,  and  then  it  had 
been  in  the  evening,  so  that  now  in  the  strong  after 
noon  sun  she  saw  with  a  momentary  shock  that  he 
looked  very  ill  indeed. 

"Seedy?"  she  asked,  some  unanalysed  feeling  of 
understanding  urging  her  to  an  unusual  gentleness 
of  tone. 

"  Yes.     What  is  wrong  with  you,  Brigit?  " 

She  had  never  forgiven  him  the  affair  of  the  even 
ing  when  Tommy  had  walked  in  his  sleep,  but  her 


1 84  THE     HALO 

mind  was  too  full  of  her  own  trouble  to  have  much 
room  for  resentment,  and  his  value  as  an  enemy  had 
gone  down.  He  looked  too  broken  and  ill  to  be  dan 
gerous. 

"  I — I'm  all  right,"  she  returned. 

"Where  are  you  walking  so  fast?" 

"  I'm  just  walking." 

"  I  see.  A  race  with  the  demons,"  he  said  in  a 
curious,  hurried  voice.  "  I  do  it,  too.  Everyone  does, 
it  seems.  I  just  met  Joyselle  tearing  out  Chelsea- 
ward — the  father,  I  mean." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  face  clearing.     "  Ah !  " 

"  Yes.  I  like  him.  He  is  a  great  artist  and — a 
whole  man.  No  disrespect  to  your  young  man,  my 
dear,"  he  added,  with  a  dismal  attempt  of  his  old 
jaunty  manner. 

"  Yes;  he  is  *  a  whole  man.'  Well,  I  must  get  on. 
Good-bye."  With  a  nod  she  left  him  and  hurried  on. 

To  Chelsea?  Yes;  No.  i6i  Tite  Street — she 
knew.  She  had  never  seen  the  house,  but  she  had 
heard  the  number.  No  one  ever  went  there. 
Madame  Joyselle  had  never  been,  and  Theo  only 
once.  Why  was  he  "tearing"  there  at  that  hour? 
Because,  of  course,  he  wanted  to  be  alone.  There 
had  certainly  been  a  row  of  some  kind,  of  which 
Theo  had  not  told  her.  The  old  woman  in  Nor 
mandy  had  written,  oh,  yes;  but  then  there  must 
have  been  a  great  pourparler,  and  even  Felicite  had 
grown  angry.  Poor  Felicite!  To-night — oh,  yes; 
at  a  dance  at  the  Newlyns;  she  must  give  Theo  his 
answer.  At  a  dance ! 


THE     HALO  185 

But  how  could  she  decide  until  she  knew  what 

Victor "Hansom!"  Her  own  voice  surprised 

her  as  a  pistol  shot  might  have  done.  "  Tite  Street, 
Chelsea,  16*." 

The  cabby,  who  was  a  romanticist  and  fed  his 
brain  on  pabulum  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Fergus  Hume 
and  other  ingenious  concocters  of  peripatetic  mystery, 
wondered  as  he  gave  his  horse  a  meaning  lash  with 
his  whip — a  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  fare — "  Wot 
the  dickens  she  was  h'up  to,  with  'er  big  eyes  and 
'er  'ealthy  pallor." 

It  further  excited  the  excellent  man's  interest  to  be 
obliged,  when  he  had  arrived  at  his  destination,  to 
remind  his  fare  that  they  had  done  so.  "  'Ere  y'are, 
miss,"  he  murmured  soothingly  down  the  trap. 
"Shall  I  wait?" 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THE  house  was  an  old  one  with  a  broad,  low  front 
door  and  shallow,  much-worn  oak  stairs.  In 
answer  to  Brigit's  knock  a  Gamp-like  person  with  a 
hare-lip  appeared,  and  informing  her  curtly  that  Mr. 
Joyselle  had  come  in  only  a  few  minutes  before, 
added  that  she  might  go  up — "  To  the  top,  miss,  an* 
there's  only  one  door  when  youVe  got  up." 

Brigit  almost  ran  up  the  four  flights,  and  then, 
when  opposite  the  door,  sat  down  on  the  top  step 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

What  should  she  say?  Why  had  she  come? 
Would  he  be  glad  to  see  her — or  shocked?  Worse 
still,  would  he  accept  her  coming  as  an  act  of  filial 
devotion  ? 

No.    That  she  would  not  allow. 

Her  mind,  boiling,  as  it  were,  with  a  thousand  in 
gredients,  she  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  thinking. 
Realising  perfectly  that  she  had  behaved  outra 
geously,  sincerely  ashamed  of  herself  and  full  of  re 
morse,  yet  her  own  position  and  her  own  welfare  had 
never  for  a  second  ceased  to  be  her  chief  concern. 
Suffering  was  of  a  certainity  in  store  for  some  of  the 
actors  in  the  drama,  but  she  held  the  centre  of  the 
stage  and  meant  to  avoid  as  much  pain  as  possible. 
For  her  love  for  Joyselle  was,  of  course,  a  purely 
selfish  one.  For  several  minutes  she  sat  crouching 


THE     HALO  187 

on  the  stairs,  utterly  undecided  as  to  what  her  next 
step  was  to  be.  Then  a  sound  from  within  the 
room  behind  her  caused  her  to  turn  sharply.  A 
sound  of — not  music,  but  of  pitiless,  furious  scrap 
ing  and  grinding  on  a  violin. 

Could  it  be  Joyselle?  It  was  horrible,  like  the 
cries  of  some  animal  in  agony.  And  it  went  on  and 
on  and  on. 

"It  must  be  Victor,"  she  whispered;  "it  is  his 
room.  But — oh,  how  frightful !  Has  he  gone  mad  ? 
Oh,  my  God,  my  God!  " 

Rising,  she  stood  for  a  horrible  minute  bending 
towards  the  door,  and  then  with  a  quick  movement 
opened  it  and  went  in. 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  but  a  large  window  in 
the  roof  let  in  a  square  of  cross  daylight  that  looked 
like  an  island  in  a  surrounding  sea  of  dusky  dark 
ness  ;  and  in  the  light  stood  Joyselle,  his  back  to  her, 
his  head  bent  over  his  violin  in  a  way  almost  gro 
tesque,  as  he  groaned  and  tore  at  the  hapless  strings 
with  venomous  energy. 

Brigit  stood,  unable  to  move.  It  is  always  an 
uncanny  thing  to  watch  for  any  length  of  time  a 
person  who  believes  himself  to  be  absolutely  alone, 
and  when,  as  in  this  case,  the  person  is  undergoing, 
and  giving  full  vent  to  a  very  strong  emotion,  the 
strangeness  is  increased  tenfold. 

The  man  was,  it  was  plain,  after  a  week's  tre 
mendous  and  for  him  wholly  unusual  self-restraint, 
now  giving  full  rein  to  his  great  rage  over  his  miser 
able  situation.  As  he  played,  she  could  see  the 


i88  THE     HALO 

muscles  of  his  strong  neck  move  under  the  brown 
skin,  and  his  shoulders  rise  and  fall  tumultuously 
with  his  uneven  breaths.  The  din  he  made  was 
almost  unbearable,  and  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
ears  to  shut  it  out. 

The  room  was  very  large,  and  high,  and  round  it, 
half-way  up  the  dull  yellow  walls,  ran  an  old  carved 
gallery,  relic  of  the  time  when  it  had  been  the  studio 
of  a  hare-brained  painter,  a  friend  of  Hazlitt  and 
Coleridge,  a  believer  in  poor  young  Keats  while  the 
rest  of  the  world  laughed  at  him — in  the  very  early 
days. 

In  those  days  feasts  had  been  held  here,  and  in 
the  gallery,  hidden  behind  flowering  dwarf  peach- 
trees  in  tubs,  stringed  instruments  were  played — 
very  softly,  for  the  painter  of  one  good  pkture  and 
dozens  of  bad  ones,  had  taste — while  his  guests  sat  at 
his  board.  Stories  are  still  told  of  the  small  table 
that  used  to  be  brought  into  the  room  at  the  end  of 
dinner  by  two  little  Ethiopians  in  white  tunics.  An 
ancient  table  with  faded  gilding  just  visible  on  the 
claw  feet  that  looked  out  from  under  its  petticoat  of 
finest  damask;  and  on  it  priceless  gold  and  silver 
bowls  and  salvers  of  all  shapes,  full  of  the  most  mar 
vellous  fruits  from  all  countries,  some  of  which  fruits 
were  never  seen  elsewhere  in  England.  All  dead  and 
gone  to  dust  years  ago,  host  and  guest  and  grinning 
little  Ethiopians.  Joyselle  had  told  Brigit  this  story, 
and  now  as  she  stood  watching  him  vent  his  wrath 
and  anguish  on  his  faithful  Amati,  a  kind  of  vision 
came  to  her;  and  she  seemed  to  see  the  room  as  it 


THE     HALO  189 

used  to  be — vaguely,  the  big  table  with  six  or  eight 
men  sitting  around  it  drinking  wine,  and,  more  dis 
tinctly,  the  heaped-up  bowls  and  plates  of  fruit 

Half  hypnotised  she  stood  there,  her  hands  pressed 
to  her  ears  until,  with  a  final  excruciating  dig  into 
the  strings,  he  dropped  his  left  arm  and  turned. 

For  a  moment  he,  in  his  square  of  light,  did  not 
see  her  in  the  dusk  under  the  gallery.  Then  he  took 
a  step  forward,  and  with  a  low  cry  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  crushed  her  and  the  violin  painfully  to  his 
breast. 

" Mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu"  he  repeated  over  and 
over,  kissing  her  roughly,  "  you  have  come.  Then 
you  know,  ma  Brigitte,  you  know !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  admitted  sullenly.  "  Let  me 
go,  Victor,  you — you  hurt  me." 

He  dropped  his  arms  and  she  withdrew  a  few 
steps.  He  was  very  pale  and  his  hair  was  ruffled. 

"  You — it  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  said  after 
a  pause.  "Then,  you  are  not  angry?" 

"  No." 

"  Brigit — je  t'aime,  je  t'alme.  I  am  infamous,  I 
am  a  monster,  a  father  to  be  execrated  by  all  honest 
men  and  women,  but — I  love  you !  " 

He  laid  the  violin  down  in  a  chair  and  came  to 
her.  "Et  toi?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

The  moment  had  come  when  she  must  think,  she 
told  herself,  but  her  brain  refused  to  work.  The 
only  thing  that  mattered  was  that  he  should  stay. 
What  must  she  say,  truth  or  lie,  that  would  inspire 
that  necessity? 


190  THE     HALO 

She  stared  at  him  blankly,  and  then,  before  she 
could  speak,  he  knelt  at  her  feet  and  pressed  a  fold 
of  her  dress  to  his  face. 

"  Victor,"  she  said  slowly,  trembling  so  she  could 
hardly  stand,  "  you  will  not — leave  me?  " 

And  Joyselle  caught  her  up  off  the  floor  and 
held  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby. 

"  Dieu  merci"  he  cried.    "  Dieu  merci" 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

AN  hour  later  Brigit  Mead  came  quietly  down  the 
now  nearly  dark  stairs  of  the  old  house,  smiling 
faintly  to  herself. 

Joyselle's  confession  had  been  complete  and  cir 
cumstantial.  He  had  not  attempted  to  hide  from  her 
one  thing,  and  in  the  relief  of  his,  as  it  secerned,  un 
avoidable  avowal,  he  had  hardly  given  her  time  to 
speak.  "  It  was,  I  think,  the  evening  you  came  in  the 
golden  gown.  You  remember?  It  was  a  vision;  but 
an  angelic  vision,  Most  Beautiful;  but  one  that 
turned  me  first  to  stone,  and  then  to  fire.  Vivien 
must  have  worn  a  golden  gown.  And  then  the  even 
ing  in  Pont  Street — the  storm,  when  I  put  my  arms 
round  you — they  went  round  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  had  ever  seen,  it  is  true,  but  also  round  my 
daughter.  But — in  that  lightning  flash  of  time  I 
found  they  were  round  the  woman  compared  to  my 
love  of  whom  the  whole  world  does  not  matter  I  And 
I  ran  into  the  night  and  walked  for  hours  in  the 
rain,  and  I  think  I  was  mad.  Then  I  determined 
to  go  to  America.  And  I  would  have  gone,  God 
knows,  but — you  came,  and  your  unconsciousness 
broke  me  down.  If  you  had  suspected,  I  should  have 
gone;  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Steamship  Company 
when  I  met  you.  And  then,  Hampstead — and  this 
past  week — and  then  you  came  to  me  here  where  I 
work — and  where  I  dream — ah,  my  beloved!  " 


192  THE     HALO 

He  was  very  gentle  in  his  unhoped-for  happiness, 
and  to  her  immense  relief  he  never  once  mentioned, 
or  even  appeared  to  remember,  his  son. 

When  he  asked  her,  with  the  marvelling  curiosity 
of  a  boy  lover,  when  and  why  she  ever  came  to  love 
him,  she  only  shook  her  head.  "  I  love  you,"  she 
answered,  and  he  forgot,  looking  at  her,  to  insist. 

No  word  of  the  future  had  been  said,  not  a  plan 
had  been  made.  Only,  at  parting,  to  meet  later  in 
the  evening  at  the  Newlyns,  he  said  to  her,  "  I  will  be 
the  greatest  violinist  in  the  world,  my  woman." 

And  her  heart  beat  high  with  honest  pride  in 
him. 

Too  happy  to  think,  she  went  down  the  stairs,  and 
half-way  down  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Ger 
ald  Carron. 

It  was  nearly  dark,  but  she  could  just  see  that 
his  white  face  was  drawn  and  hideous  with  anger. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  cried,  drawing 
back,  but  furious  in  her  turn. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?    You — you!  " 

"  You  have  been  spying  on  me,"  she  returned  with 
a  good  assumption  of  courage  that  she  was  very  far 
from  feeling.  "Well — I  have  been  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Joyselle.  Have  you  any  objection  to  my  doing 
so?" 

"  Objection?  Yes,  I  have.  You  have  fooled  us  all. 
Engaged  to  the  boy,  and — I  have  always  known 
that  you  didn't  care  for  that  child,  and  wondered — 
Now  I  know."  He  laughed  shrilly.  "  And  other 
people  shall  know,  too !  Your  mother  will  be  pleased, 


THE     HALO  i93 

and — the  clean  peasant!  I  only  wonder  you  haven't 
married  that  poor  wretch.  The  situation  would  then 
be  even  more — biblical." 

She  tried  to  pass  him,  but  he  barred  her  way.  "  If 
you  don't  let  me  go,  I  will  call  for  M.  Joyselle.  And 
if  he  doesn't  hear  me,  someone  else  will.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  and  looking  at  him  carefully 
for  a  moment  she  was  for  the  first  time  terrified.  His 
eyes  were  not  those  of  a  sane  man. 

"  Gerald,  don't  be  nasty,"  she  urged,  gently. 
"  Surely  you  must  see  that  there  is  no  harm  in  my 
coming  to  see  Joyselle!  In  a  month  or  two  he  will 
be  my  father-in-law." 

He  sneered.  "  Ah,  bah !  I  saw  your  face  as  you 
passed  the  last  window.  It  was  not  the  face  of  a  girl 
coming  from  her  future  father-in-law.  It  was  the 
face " 

Before  he  could  finish  a  door  opened  on  the  floor 
above  and  two  children  came  downstairs,  chattering 
gaily  to  each  other.  Brigit  turned  to  the  elder,  a  boy 
of  six,  dressed  in  a  quaintly  cut  green  blouse. 

"  Is  your  papa  at  home,  my  dear?  "  she  asked. 

The  child  laughed.  "  My  papa  is  dead,"  he  an 
swered  cheerfully,  "  but  Uncle  Chris  is  there." 

Brigit  looked  at  Carron  for  a  moment,  and  then 
went  downstairs  with  her  hand  on  the  little  boy's 
shoulder.  "  And  what  is  your  name?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  Bob  Seymour,  and  this  is  Patty.  Uncle 
Chris  has  been  painting  us.  He  gives  us  a  shilling 
apiece  each  time." 


194  THE     HALO 

u  How  very  nice."  Patty,  who  wore  as  obviously 
artistic  a  costume  as  her  brother's,  thumped  noisily 
from  behind  them,  and  a  few  seconds  later  Brigit  had 
kissed  her  unconscious  but  all-powerful  bodyguard 
and  jumped  into  the  hansom. 

If  a  man  had  come  instead  of  the  children,  almost 
anything  might  have  happened,  for  she  had  no  doubt 
that  Carron's  sanity  was  approaching  snapping-point, 
but  the  innocent  courage  of  Bob  and  Patty  had 
quieted  him. 

Brigit  had  a  very  unpleasant  drive  home,  but  the 
romantic  cabby  was  delightfully  thrilled.  As  it  hap 
pened,  he  had  been  "  crawling "  for  some  minutes 
before  Brigit  had  engaged  him  in  Sloane  Square,  and 
had  noticed  her  being  accosted  by  Carron. 

"  Something  queer  along  of  all  this,"  he  medi 
tated;  "that  lean  chap  didn't  look  quite  right,  an' 
she  'adn't  no  patience  with  'im  neither.  Then  in 
she  goes  to  the  old  'ouse,  an'  then  along  comes  an 
other  'ansom  with  the  lean  chap.  Then  I  waits  an 
hour,  an'  out  she  comes  with  the  little  kids,  kissin' 
'em,  an'  the  biggest  little  kid  arsks  'er  'er  nime!  If 
she  didn't  know  'im,  why  did  she  kiss  'im?  An' 
before  we'd  got  to  the  corner  out  comes  the 
lean  'un,  lookin'  like  a  bloomin'  corpse.  Some 
thing  must  'ave  'appened  in  that  old  'ouse,  an'  I'll 
keep  a  lookout  in  the  People  and  see  wot  it  was. 
I'd  like  to  'ave  been  a  fly  on  the  wall  during  that 
there  interview,  I  would.  A  fly  on  the  wall  with  a 
tiste  for  short'and." 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

LADY  KINGSMEAD,  who  was  going  to  the  New- 

lyns'  ball  later,  was  having  dinner  in  her  little  sitting- 
room  when  Carron  came  rushing  in,  nearly  treading 
on  the  heels  of  the  afflicted  Fledge,  who  did  like  to 
have  a  chance  to  announce  visitors  properly. 
"  Good  Lord,  Gerald ! — what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
"  Matter  enough.    Brigit  is  Victor  Joyselle's  mis 


tress." 


He  sank  into  a  chair  and  pressed  his  thin  hands 
together  until  the  bones  cracked. 

"Gerald!" 

"  She  is !  she  is!  I  have  just  come  from  his  studio 
in  Chelsea.  Followed  her  there.  She  was  alone  with 
him  for  over  an  hour.  And  when  she  came  out " 

Lady  Kingsmead  rose  and  went  to  him. 

"  Now  listen  to  me/'  she  said  firmly.  "  You  have 
either  been  drinking  or  you  are  mad.  I  don't  care 
where  you  have  been  or  where  you  saw  Brigit.  This 
story  is — rot !  " 

Lady  Kingsmead  was  not  a  clever  woman,  but  this 
move  on  her  part,  the  result  not  of  a  virtuous  belief  in 
virtue  or  of  a  sudden  swing  of  her  mental  pendulum 
towards  the  effective,  such  as  some  women  have — 
was  amazing  in  its  effect,  because  it  was  spontaneous 
and  sincere. 

"  Will  you  have  something  to  drink?  "  she  asked. 


196  THE     HALO 

It  was  a  curious  scene;  the  dainty  little  room  with 
the  swivel-table  laid  for  one,  the  pretty,  well-pre 
served  woman,  looking  down  with  real  pity  but  some 
thing  very  near  scorn  at  the  broken,  haggard,  untidy 
man  sprawling  in  a  rose-coloured  chair. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Tony,"  he  said  roughly.  "  I 
tell  you  I  know." 

"  Bosh.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  was  never 
silly  about  my  children.  Well — I  don't  care  what 
you  say  about  Brigit,  I  know  she  is  all  right.  As  yet, 
anyway,"  she  added. 

"  She  loves  that — that  brute,"  he  stammered,  wip 
ing  the  perspiration  from  his  face  with  a  crumpled 
handkerchief.  "  I  saw  her  face  as  she  left  his 
studio." 

Lady  Kingsmead  pursed  her  mouth  thoughtfully. 

"  That  may  be,"  she  admitted.  "  I've  thought  for 
some  time  that  something  was  in  the  air " 

Breaking  off,  she  glanced  hastily  at  him.  The  old 
habit  of  telling  him  her  thoughts  as  they  came  to  her 
was  still  strong,  but  this  was  not  her  Gerald  Carron. 
This  was  a  new  man  of  whom  she  knew  little.  For 
this  much  wisdom  she  had  learned:  that  every  new 
love  makes  a  new  man  of  a  man. 

And  this  Carron,  with  his  wild  eyes,  was  no  person 
to  confide  in. 

"  Come,  buck  up,  old  thing,"  she  said,  with  an 
affectation  of  brusque  good-humour;  "  you  haven't 
been  sleeping.  Isn't  that  it?  " 

1  Yes.     I'll  never  sleep  any  more." 

"And  you're  taking — Veronal?" 


THE     HALO  197 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Oh,  don't  bully  me,  Tony ! 
I»m_done." 

"  I  should  think  you  were,  to  come  and  tell  a 
woman  beastly  stories  about  her  own  daughter! 
You'll  be  sorry  to-morrow.  Did  you  tell  her  this 
beautiful  idea  by  way  of  making  yourself  engag 
ing?" 

"  I  told  her— yes." 

"And  she  didn't  knock  you  down?  Upon  my 
word,  I  am  surprised.  Now  look  here,  Gerald;  you 
must  go.  I'm  going  to  dress.  We  are  going  to  the 
Cassowary's  ball.  You'd  better  go  to  bed  and  try  to 
sleep  without  any  Verond.  Will  you?  Will  you, 
Gerry,  poor  old  boy?  " 

His  nerves  were  in  such  a  condition  that  this  un 
merited  and  unexpected  kindness  broke  him  down 
utterly.  Suddenly,  to  her  horror,  the  poor  wretch 
burst  into  tears,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

"  Gerry,  don't — oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't !  " 
she  cried,  laying  her  hand  on  his  head.  "  You — you 
mustn't.  Gerry,  Gerry  dear " 

"Yes,  pat  his  head  and  call  him  dear!"  cried 
Brigit  furiously  from  the  open  door.  "  He  insults 
me  in  the  most  abominable  way,  the  vile  little  beast, 
and  then  you  pet  him.  Bah!  mother,  you  do  really 
make  me  ill !  " 

Lady  Kingsmead  turned,  amazed.  "  You  are  off 
your  head,  too !  Can't  you  see  he  is  ill?  " 

But  Brigit's  anger,  nursed  all  during  the  drive 
home,  burst  out  afresh.  All  her  life  she  and  her 
mother  had  quarrelled;  there  had  never  been  im- 


198  THE     HALO 

planted  in  her  even  an  idea  of  the  common  decency 
of  filial  respect,  or  of  its  semblance.  Her  mother's 
gusty,  fitful  temper  had  always,  when  roused,  been 
given  instant  vent  in  a  torrent  of  vituperation,  and 
the  girl,  while  too  sulky  to  be  so  spontaneous  even  in 
the  unpleasant  sense  of  the  word,  had  early  acquired 
the  habit  of  speaking  to  her  mother  as  she  would 
have  to  a  greatly  disliked  sister. 

So  now,  when  her  rage  with  Carron  burst  its 
bounds,  and  she  found,  as  she  thought,  her  mother 
taking  his  part,  she  gave  free  rein  to  her  temper,  and 
its  eloquent  bitterness  struck  Lady  Kingsmead  for 
the  moment  dumb. 

Carron  sat  still,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands. 
When  at  last  Brigit's  arraignment  ceased,  Lady 
Kingsmead's  turn  came,  and  more  feebly,  less  effec 
tively,  but  to  the  best  of  her  powers,  she  gave  back 
abuse  for  abuse. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight.  Unbridled  rage  never 
is,  even  when  in  a  good  cause,  and  these  two  undisci 
plined  women  had  lost  all  dignity  and  said  very  bad 
things  to  each  other. 

Brigit's  one  excuse  was  her  mistaken  assumption 
that  her  mother  had  believed  Carron's  story,  and 
when  Lady  Kingsmead  had  shrieked  out  everything 
else  that  she  thought  might  hurt  her  daughter,  she 
added,  "  I  believed  in  you,  you  little  brute,  though 
he  said  he  saw  you  there.  I  might  have  known  he 
wouldn't  have  dared  to  make  up  such  a  tale." 

Brigit,  who  had  stood  quite  still,  now  spoke. 
"  Then — you  believe  him  now?  " 


THE     HALO  199 

"Yes,  I  do!"  lied  Lady  Kingsmead,  goaded  by 
the  sneer  on  her  daughter's  fierce  mouth. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  Brigit  Mead 
went  to  the  door. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  lost  my  temper  and  made  such  a 
beast  of  myself,"  she  said  slowly,  "  and — I  will  never 
speak  to  you  again  as  long  as  I  live." 

She  closed  the  door  gently  and  went  upstairs  to 
her  room. 

It  was  done  now,  decided,  her  boats  were  burnt. 
From  this  day  henceforth  she  would  be  spoken  of 
as  the  queer  Mead  girl  who  doesn't  live  with  Her 
mother. 

While  she  dressed  for  dinner  she  laid  her  plans 
with  the  quickness  native  to  her.  She  would  dine  and 
dance  at  the  Newlyns,  and  then  she  would  go  to  the 
Joyselles'  for  the  night. 

The  next  day  she  would  go  and  talk  to  a  girl 
friend  who  had  a  flat  in  huge  and  horrible  "  Man 
sions  "  out  Kensington  way.  She  would  live  alone 
with  a  maid;  and  she  would  have  to  pinch  and  scrape 
— but  that  would  not  matter.  And  then — Joyselle 
would  come  to  see  her,  and  very  probably  some  day 
they  would  lose  their  heads,  and  it  would  be  her 
mother's  fault.  There  was  much  satisfaction  in  this 
reflection,  for  she  ignored  the  fact  that  in  all  prob 
ability  the  crisis  had  been  only  precipitated  by  her 
mother's  speech. 

There  was  Tommy.  Well,  Joyselle  would  be  good 
to  him  for  her  sake.  And  even  if  Tommy  should 
elect  to  come  and  live  with  her,  her  mother  could 


200  T  H  E     H  A  L  O 

not  prevent  his  doing  so.  She  would  fuss  and  cry 
and  tell  all  her  friends  how  ungrateful  her  children 
were,  but  in  the  end  Tommy's  firmness  would  pre 
vail. 

She  laughed  as  she  got  out  of  the  carriage  at  the 
Newlyns.  By  great  good  luck  Joyselle  was  dining 
there,  and  Theo  coming  only  to  the  dance. 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  she  thought,  and  her  heart  gave 
a  great  throb  and  then  sank  warmly  into  its  place  at 
the  thought  of  seeing  him.  "  He  will  turn  slowly 
and  hold  his  shoulders  stiffly  and  try  to  look  indiffer 
ent,"  she  thought,  "  but  oh — his  eyes!  " 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

THE  Sparrow  and  the  Cassowary  were  much  de 
lighted  with  their  own  dinner  and  their  own  ball. 

Freddy  Newlyn  was  a  kindly  little  man,  with  an 
absurd  fussy  manner  full  of  importance,  as  so  many 
kindly  little  men  have.  Is  it  by  some  gentle  provi 
dential  dispensation  that  the  physically  insignificant 
are  so  aften  upheld  by  harmless  vanity? 

The  Cassowary,  on  the  other  hand,  bony  and  dis 
tressingly  red  in  the  wrong  places,  suffered  from  a 
realisation  of  her  own  defects  that  she  endeavoured 
to  conceal  by  an  assumption  of  the  wildest  high 
spirits.  This  jocularity,  of  course,  became  at  times 
rather  painful,  but  as  she  was  possessed  of  much 
money  and  a  kind  heart,  it  was  forgiven  her. 

The  dinner  was  very  large,  and  the  guests  sat  at 
small  tables  all  over  the  place — a  delightful  inven 
tion  of  the  Cassowary's,  who  screamed  with  piercing 
glee  at  the  excitement  displayed  as  lots  were  drawn 
for  the  different  tables. 

"  Seven,  Sir  John?  Then  you'll  find  your  partner 
and  go  to  the  library — only  three  tables  there! 
Dicky,  what  is  your  number?  Four?  Oh,  you  lucky 
little  brute!  The  conservatory.  Who's  your  girl? 
Oh,  yes,  Piggy !  Aren't  I  a  lamb  ?  " 

The  numbers  of  the  various  tables  were  being 
drawn,  as  she  spoke,  from  a  vase  on  the  drawing- 
room  table. 


202  THE     HALO 

"And  you,  M.  Joyselle?  Thirteen.  Oh,  what 
awful  luck!" 

Everyone  screamed  with  laughter,  for  the  Norman 
was  looking  with  unfeigned  concern  at  his  bit  of 
paper. 

"  Je  n'aime  'pas  le  treize,  madame,"  he  protested, 
disregarding  the  prevailing  mirth. 

"  But — what  can  I  do?  It's  a  nice  table  in  the 
billiard-room.  Who's  your  partner?  " 

"  Lady  Sophy  Browne — which  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  Sophy  Browne.  Go  on  drawing,  you  men, 
I  must  speak  to  Fred.  I  say,  Fred " 

The  good-natured  Cassowary  tramped  across  to 
the  door  where  the  Sparrow  was  standing,  and  bend 
ing  down,  said  something  to  him. 

"  Is  he  really?  I  say,  that's  too  bad.  But  you 
can't  change  the  tables,  can  you,  dear?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  These  kind  of  people  are  so 
superstitious,  you  see;  it's  enough  to  make  him  glum 
all  the  evening,  and  Sophy  was  so  keen — she  says  he 
looks  like  a  bust  by  Rodin,  and  she  wants  to  do  him 
in  pen  and  ink." 

The  Sparrow  rubbed  his  pointed  nose  thoughtfully. 

"  Change  the  two  of  'em  to  another  table,  can't 
you?" 

"  I've  got  'em  all  sorted,  though.  Unless — I  might 
change  Billy  and  the  Farquhar  girl  to  their  table, 
and  put  them  in  the  boudoir  balcony !  Billy  wouldn't 
mind  and  the  Farquhar  girl  doesn't  matter ;  she  didn't 
get  me  those  tickets,  anyhow." 

The  Sparrow  gave  a  little  hop  of  satisfaction. 


T  H  E     H  A  L  O  203 

"  Right.    That'll  do  famously." 

So  the  Cassowary  went  back  to  the  table  and  laid 
her  hand  on  Joyselle's  sleeve.  "  I  have  put  you  at 
another  table,  M.  Joyselle.  You  go  to  the  boudoir 
balcony — Sophy  will  take  you  there — so  it's  all  right. 
I  must  go  and  find  Billy  Vere  now.  Oh "  turn 
ing,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Brigit  Mead, 
who  had  just  arrived. 

"  I  say,  Brigit,  would  you  mind  sitting  at  the  table 
with  M.  Joyselle?  Eugene  Struther  is  your  man, 
and  M.  Joyselle  objects  to  his  table  because  it  is 
number  thirteen." 

Brigit,  shaking  hands  with  her  enthusiastic  hostess, 
caught  Joyselle's  eye.  He  had  heard. 

u  Mind?  Not  a  bit,"  she  answered  carelessly,  "  if 
he  doesn't." 

Mrs.  Newlyn  turned,  to  find  the  top  of  Joyselle's 
head  presented  to  her  in  a  bow  of  mockly-resigned 
acquiescence.  "  Then,  thafs  all  right.  What's  the 
matter,  Oliver?" 

Lord  Oliver  Maytopp,  a  cherished  clown  in  that 
section  of  society  in  which  the  Newlyns  had  their 
being,  was  making  believe  to  cry,  his  large  mouth 
opened  grotesquely,  his  fists  digging  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  d — don't  want  to  sit  at  the  table  next 
Meg's,"  he  sobbed,  "  when  I  tell  funny  stories  she 
always — makes  faces  at  me.  I  want  to  go  home  to 
Nursey." 

Brigit  moved  away,  her  upper  lip  raised  disdain 
fully.  How  odious  they  all  were ! 

And   how    detestable    the   whole   house   with   its 


204  THE     HALO 

wealth  of  art-treasures,  selected  by  an  artist  friend  of 
Newlyn's. 

"  Nouveau-riche?  "  asked  Joyselle,  joining  her. 

"  No.  That  is,  they  are  well-born,  but  they  are 
nouveau  as  regards  money.  Her  father  made  a 
lucky  speculation  in  electric-lighting,  I  think  it  was, 
after  she  was  married.  They  haven't  got  used  to 
their  money  yet.  So,"  she  added,  as  they  stepped 
out  on  to  one  of  the  many  balconies  with  which  the 
house  was  ornamented,  "  you  don't  object  to  sitting 
at  my  table?  " 

"Brlgitte/" 

His  was  of  the  type  of  face  that  is  ennobled  by 
any  strong  passion,  and  he  looked  very  splendid  as 
he  towered  above  her,  white  and  shaken. 

"You  will  not  leave  me?"  she  asked,  again 
possessed  by  the  fear  that  had  tormented  her  from 
the  moment  when  he  had  dropped  his  violin  the 
evening  of  the  golden  frock. 

"  Brigitte,"  he  returned,  leaning  on  the  rail  and 
presenting  a  non-committal  back  to  anyone  who  might 
chance  to  join  them,  "  let  us  not  talk  of  that  yet.  I 
love  you,  and  you  are  mine,  and  I  am  yours,  whatever 
happens." 

An  agony  of  terror  took  her  strength  as  he  spoke. 
Uncertainty  was  always  hard  for  her  to  bear,  but  in 
this  vital  matter  she  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  it. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  be  cruel  and  leave  me,"  she 
said,  her  face  taking  on  an  expression  of  relentless 
cruelty,  "  you  must  do  so  at  once." 

He  turned. 


THE    HALO  205 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean — I  cannot  bear  suspense.  If,  for  any 
reason,  you  are  going  to — to  go — please  go  now." 

He  was  honestly  puzzled,  for  she  looked  at  him  as 
if  he  had  been  an  enemy. 

"  My  dear — my  beloved — what  do  you  mean?" 
His  voice  was  grieved  and  gentle.  "  Surely  you  can 

see  that "  he  broke  off  into  French,  "  that  the 

situation  is  not  simple?  That  we  love  we  cannot 
help — nor  would  we,  by  God ! — but  in  an  honest  man 
and  an  honest  woman " 

u  Come  along,  you  two,"  cried  Mrs.  Newlyn, 
"  dinner  is  announced.  M.  Joyselle,  go  and  find 
Lady  Sophy,  and  you,  Brigit,  come  and  be  found 
by  your  man — I  forget  who  he  is " 

"  Eugene  Struther,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  I  am 
glad,  too." 

Struther  was  one  of  the  best  of  the  young  men  to 
be  met  at  the  Newlyns,  and  he  and  she  always  got 
on  fairly  well.  Their  table  was  squeezed  rather 
tightly  into  a  little  balcony  looking  over  the  diminu 
tive  garden  that,  although  she  never  went  into  it,  or 
knew  one  of  its  flowers  from  another,  was  one  of  the 
several  joys  of  the  Cassowary's  heart.  So  few  people 
have  gardens  in  London. 

Lady  Sophy  Browne,  an  ethereal-looking  woman, 
with  a  consciously  wan  smile  and  a  grey  chiffon  frock, 
that  looked  as  if  it  would  have  had  to  be  unpinned 
and  unwound,  rather  than  taken  off,  when  bed-time 
came,  put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  clasped  her 
hands  under  her  chin. 


206  THE     HALO 

"  Do  you  know  Rodin's  Portrait  d'un  Inconnu?  " 
she  asked  Joyselle. 

"  No,  madame." 

"But  you  know  Rodin?" 

"  I  have  met  him." 

Ecstatic  was  her  smile. 

"  I  knew  it.  And  unconsciously  you  were  his 
model  for  the  Inconnu.  But  it  is  you,  M.  Joyselle  1. 
Do  not  deny  it,  for  I  know." 

Joyselle  took  an  olive. 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,  Lady  Sophy.  But  I  know 
nothing  of  it.  If  you  are  right  I  am — much  flat 
tered." 

Brigit  was  amused,  for  she  saw  that  the  Spectre, 
as  her  friends  called  the  grey-draped  peeress,  had 
anticipated  excitement  and  curiosity  on  Joyselle's 
part. 

There  was  music  somewhere  in  the  distance,  and 
the  air  was  sweet  with  the  smell  of  roses  from  the 
room  behind  them  as  well  as  from  the  garden 
below. 

Struther  talked  little,  Brigit,  with  her  usual  in 
difference  to  others,  almost  not  at  all,  and  as  Joy 
selle's  self-command  rose  only  to  the  height  of  an 
occasional  reply  to  the  Spectre's  monologue,  which 
was  not  of  an  arresting  nature,  the  party  on  the 
balcony  was  very  quiet. 

Brigit  suffered  tortures  as  she  sat  watching  Joy 
selle.  It  was,  then,  as  she  had  feared.  He  was  going 
to  be  strong  and  make  everyone  miserable. 

If  she  had  been  asked  to  propose  any  kind  of  a 


THE    HALO  207 

plan  for  the  future,  her  answer  would  have  been, 
when  denuded  of  side  issues  and  fantasy,  simply  that 
she  could  see  nothing  better  than  simple  drifting.  As 
yet  she  could  not  anticipate,  and  it  roused  in  her  a 
kind  of  jealousy  that  Joyselle  had  so  soon  begun  to 
think  of  Theo.  His  love  for  her  should  have  dimmed 
all  consideration  for  his  son — it  should  have  been 
she  who  suggested  some  means  of  hurting  the  boy 
as  little  as  possible. 

But  she  could  see  that  Joyselle  was  going  to  be 
what  she  called  in  the  frankness  she  allowed  herself, 
tiresome  about  that  wretched  boy  of  his. 

She  also  knew  that  Joyselle  would  be  anything 
but  pleased  by  her  resolution  to  leave  home  and  live 
by  herself.  His  respect  for  certain  laws  were  an  in 
tegral  part  of  his  nature,  and  she  knew  that  he  would 
not  approve  of  her  deserting  what  he  was  certain  to 
call  the  maternal  roof.  This  curious  element  of 
Philistinism  in  his  otherwise  Bohemian  nature  was 
very  perplexing,  and  she  told  herself,  as  she  looked 
at  him  while  he  gravely  listened  to  the  ghostly  Lady 
Sophy,  that  her  troubles  were  in  reality  only  just 
beginning. 

"  M.  Joyselle,"  she  asked  him  during  a  pause  that 
only  a  burning  desire  for  champagne  induced  Lady 
Sophy  to  allow  to  pass  unchallenged,  "  will  petite 
mere  mind  my  coming  to  sleep  to-night?  I  want 
very  much  to  see  her  about  something,  and  so  I  told 
mother  I'd  get  you  and  Theo  to  take  me  home." 

He  bowed  with  an  assumption  of  fatherly  gratifi 
cation.  "  But  of  course,  my  dear."  Then,  for  his 


208  THE     HALO 

powers  of  dissimulation  were  not  of  durable  quality, 
he  turned  quickly  to  Lady  Sophy. 

So  that  was  all  right. 

When  dinner  was  over  and  the  women  were 
herded  together  in  the  drawing-room,  Brigit  sat  down 
and  took  up  a  book.  In  an  hour  Theo  would  be 
coming,  and  would  want  his  answer.  What  was  it 
to  be? 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

THEO  arrived  rather  late,  and  after  making  his 
bow  to  his  hostess,  came  straight  to  her.  His  fine 
young  face  was  flushed  and  eager  and  his  eyes  very 
bright. 

Brigit,  who  was  standing  talking  to  Maytopp,  felt 
her  heart  sink.  She  had  not  yet  decided  what  to  say, 
and  instinctively  she  looked  round  the  room  for 
Joyselle. 

"  Brigit — will  you  dance?"  Theo  bowed,  a  trifle 
lower  than  Englishmen  bow,  and  offered  her  his  arm 
with  the  very  slightest  suggestion  of  swagger.  And 
somehow  he  reminded  her  at  that  moment  more  of 
his  father  than  he  had  ever  done. 

He  did  not  speak  as  they  danced,  but  she  knew 
that  he  was  fairly  confident  of  her  answer  being  a 
favourable  one,  and  she  tried  to  think  that  the  waltz 
was  never  going  to  end. 

But  it  did  end,  and  she  found  herself  near  the  win 
dow  leading  to  the  balcony  where  she  had  talked  with 
his  father  early  in  the  evening. 

"  Brigit "  he  whispered  gently,  looking  out 

into  the  darkness. 

And  then  she  heard  herself  answer:  "Yes,  Theo. 
But — ask  your  father  what  he  and  I  have  decided." 

"  Ask  papa  !  " 

"  Yes.  He  knows  what  we  are  going  to  do,  and 
he  will  tell  you." 


210  THE     HALO 

Without  a  word  he  left  her  and  she  stepped  out 
on  the  balcony.  Leaning  against  the  parapet  she 
stared  down  into  the  empty  street,  wondering  what 
Joyselle  would  say.  She  had  not  intended  to  put 
the  responsibility  of  the  future  on  him;  she  had  said 
the  words  almost  unconsciously,  but  they  were  said. 
And  he,  when  he  came? 

Would  the  horrible  courage  she  had  felt  in  him 
prevail  to  the  extent  of  allowing  him  to  give  her 
to  his  son?  Or  would  he  refuse  to  settle  things?  Or 
would  he,  worst  of  all,  announce  his  departure  for 
America ! 

He  was  so  many  men,  each  of  whom  were  so 
strong  and  so  individual,  that  she  could  not  know 
what  he  would  say.  Closing  her  eyes  she  waited. 
When  the  two  men  joined  her  Theo  was — laughing. 
And  to  her  overwrought  nerves  the  sound  seemed 
an  insult. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

He  started.  "  Why — I  don't  remember.  Papa 
said  something  amusing.  Is  anything  wrong,  my 
dear?" 

"  No."  Joyselle  stood  in  the  light  and  she  could 
see  his  face.  It  looked  set  and  a  little  grim,  but 
there  was  a  fierce  light  in  his  eyes. 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly.  Yes,  she  had  done 
well;  he  should  choose. 

"  Eh,  bien?"  suggested  Joyselle  suddenly,  "why 
have  you  sent  for  me,  Most  Beautiful?" 

So  Theo  had  not  explained! 

"  Theo  is  very  impatient,"  she  answered  in  a  low 


THE     HALO  211 

voice;  "  he  wants  me  to  set  our  wedding-day.  And 
— I  have  to  make  up  my  mind,  you  know — I  thought 
as  you  and  I  had  talked  it  over  before  dinner,  you 
would  not  mind — casting  the  die  for  us." 

There  was  a  pause  while  Joyselle  deliberately 
moved  beyond  the  radius  of  the  light. 

Theo  did  not  move,  but  his  immobility  was  the 
motionlessness  of  extreme  tension.  He  had  not  ob 
served  the  discrepancy  in  her  story,  Brigit  saw,  and 
was  simply  waiting. 

It  seemed  many  minutes  before  Joyselle  spoke. 
Then  he  said  briskly,  "  The  pros  and  cons  are  many, 
Theo.  Brigit  will  tell  you  them  later.  And  there 
are — clothes  to  be  got,  are  there  not?  And  I  must 
go  away  in  a  few  days — to  Madrid,  and  shall  be 
gone  three  weeks.  It  might  be  well  for  you  to 
marry  at  once,  say  early  in  June,  or — you  might  wait 
until  the  autumn." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  Brigit  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  relief.  Thank  God,  he  was  hedging,  and  could 
not  make  up  his  mind. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  wait,"  announced  Theo,  with 
unexpected  and  terrible  decision.  "  I  can  see  no 
reason  for  it,  pere.  Brigit,  let  it  be  early  in  June." 

Joyselle's  match  fell  to  the  floor,  and  his  cigarette 
was  still  unlit. 

"  I  think  I  have  been  patient,"  pursued  the  young 
man,  his  voice  trembling  a  little.  "  Ah,  father,  I 
love  her,  and  I  want  my  wife." 

Joyselle's  arm  jerked  and  the  unlit  cigarette  flew 
out  into  the  darkness.  "  You  are  right,"  he  began 


212  THE     HALO 

abruptly,  but  Brigit  drew  nearer  to  him  and  in  the 
darkness  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"  He  is  right  in  one  way,  Beau-pere"  she  said, 
grasping  his  hand  with  spasmodic  strength,  "  and  I 
am  a  brute,  but  I  should  so  much  rather  wait  a  little 
longer.  I  have  reasons,  Theo." 

Joyselle  caught  her  hand  in  his,  and  gave  a  great 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  mes  enfants,  mes  enfants"  he  cried. 
"  When  lovers  disagree,  who  is  to  decide  but — 
chance  ?  Come,  Theo,  your  chances  shall  be  the  same 
as  hers.  Heads  you  win,  tails  you  lose.  Agreed?  " 

Staggering  back  into  the  light,  his  face  flushed, 
his  teeth  flashing  in  a  broad  smile,  he  took  a  six 
pence  from  his  pocket.  "  You  both  agree?  " 

Theo  nodded  in  silence  and  Brigit  answered 
simply  "Yes." 

The  coin  shot  from  the  violinist's  thumb-nail,  flew 
up  into  the  air  and  was  caught  on  his  palm,  his  left 
hand  covering  it. 

44  Heads,  then,  a  June  wedding.  Tails,  then  mees 
has  her  way,  and  the  event  is  put  off  till  autumn? 
Right?" 

"  Yes." 

Theo  had  turned  away,  and  Brigit  was  free  to 
look  full  into  Joyselle's  face.  It  was  a  wonderful 
face  in  its  absolute  oneness  of  expression.  There 
were  no  complications,  no  remorse,  nothing  but  wild 
and  fierce  love  of  gambling,  and  hope  that  the 
woman  he  loved  should  remain  free  a  little  longer. 

"  It  is— tails." 


THE  HALO  213 

Theo  walked  into  the  ballroom  without  a  word, 
and  Brigit  found  herself  close  in  his  father's  arms 
for  a  wild  moment.  '*  We  have  won,  mon  adoree, 
mon  adoree,"  he  murmured.  "  Thank  God !  " 

She  drew  away,  trying  to  remember  prudence. 

"  Yes.  Then — this  summer  is  ours.  And  in  the 
autumn " 

"  It  is  not  even  summer  yet.  Do  not  think  of  it. 
We  shall  be  happy,  Brigitte,  for  you  are  my  woman 
and  I  am  your  man.  And  the  future — oh,  never  mind 
the  future,  my  love,  my  love  1  " 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 

CROMWELL  MANSIONS  are  a  depressing  pile 
of  buildings  not  far  from  the  Kensington  High 
Street;  they  have  lifts,  uniformed  hall-porters,  house 
telephones  and  other  modern  inconveniences,  and  a 
restaurant. 

The  restaurant  is,  of  course,  the  Mansions  being 
inhabited  chiefly  by  women,  very  bad  indeed,  but  it 
obviates  the  necessity  of  cooks  and  kitchens  in  the, 
for  the  most  part,  diminutive  flats  into  which  the 
place  is  divided. 

One  day  early  in  August  Brigit  Mead  sat  in  the 
restaurant  at  a  small  table  near  an  open  window 
through  which  she  caught  an  invigorating  view  of  a 
brick  court  in  the  middle  of  which  a  woman  was 
washing  a  cabbage  at  a  pump. 

It  was  a  very  warm  day  and  the  butter,  more 
liquid  than  solid,  seemed  to  be  the  last  of  a  huge 
bundle  of  straws  the  weight  of  which  threatened  to 
break  the  girl's  back. 

That  the  cold  beef  was  hard  and  tasteless  was  a 
detail  to  be  borne  with,  but  the  butter  seemed 
particularly  insulting  as  it  melted  before  her  eyes. 

"  Going  to  thunder,  I  believe,"  observed  a  wan 
girl  at  the  next  table.  "  It  would,  of  course,  as  I 
have  tickets  for  Ranelagh !  " 

"  Of  course,"  agreed  Brigit,  absently. 


THE     HALO  215 

She  hated  being  so  late  in  town,  but  the  Lenskys, 
to  whom  she  had  been  going,  had  wired  to  put  her 
off,  as  Pammy  had  come  down  with  measles.  And 
the  wire  having  come  only  that  morning,  she  had  as 
yet  made  no  other  plan  for  the  rest  of  the  month. 

"  Give  me  some  cream,  please,"  she  said  to  the 
waiter,  "  without  too  much  boracic  acid  powder  in 
it." 

There  was  no  irony  in  her  remark  and  the  waiter 
accepted  it  in  good  faith.  "  It's  the  'eat,  my  lady," 
he  explained  serenely.  "  It  all  goes  sour  if  they  don't 
put  something  in  it." 

Brigit  ate  a  piece  of  fruit  tart,  a  bit  of  cheese,  and 
rose  languidly. 

"  I  see  your  mother  has  gone  to  the  country,  Lady 
Brigit,"  said  a  girl  near  the  door,  as  she  passed. 

"  Yes.    She  always  goes  on  the  28th  of  July." 

"  I  saw  it  in  some  paper.  Are  you  staying  on 
long?" 

The  story  of  her  leaving  her  mother's  house  was, 
Brigit  knew,  common  property,  but  this  was  the  first 
time  anyone  had  ventured  to  broach  the  matter  to 
her. 

"  I  suppose,"  went  on  the  unlucky  questioner, 
"  that  you  will  soon  be  joining  her?  " 

"  Do  you?  "  asked  Brigit. 

"  Do  I  what?" 

"Suppose  so?"  And  Miss  M'Caw  was  alone, 
staring  after  the  tall  figure  in  the  plain  white  frock, 
that  for  all  its  plainness  looked  so  out  of  place  in 
Cromwell  Mansions. 


216  THE     HALO 

Unlocking  her  door,  Brigit  went  into  her  sitting- 
room  and  lit  a  cigarette.  She  had  taken  the  flat 
from  a  friend  who  had  been  sent  abroad  by  her 
doctor,  and  the  whole  place  was  absurdly  unsuited  to 
its  present  owner. 

Maidie  Conyers  was  blonde  and  small,  so  the 
room  was  pale  blue  and  "  cosy."  There  were  em 
broidered  pillows  on  the  buttony  Chesterfield,  lace 
shades  to  the  electric  lights,  and  be-rosebudded  lib 
erty  silk  curtains. 

Brigit  hated  the  house,  but  it  was  cheap,  and  she 
had  little  money. 

With  a  grunt  of  furious  distaste  she  sat  down  In  a 
satin  chair,  and  leaning  back  began  to  smoke.  The 
tables  in  the  room  were  very  bare,  for  the  chief 
ornaments  had  been  photographs — in  very  elaborate 
frames — of  Maidie  Conyers'  friends,  and  Brigit, 
finding  that  she  loathed  Maidie  Conyers'  friends, 
had  banished  them  one  and  all. 

"Loathsome  room,"  the  girl  said  aloud,  lighting 
a  fresh  cigarette,  "  disgusting  curtains." 

What  she  in  reality  felt  mostly,  though  she  did  not 
know  it,  was  the  lack  of  room  in  the  flat.  Used  all 
her  life  to  the  large  rooms  of  Kingsmead,  she  felt, 
now  that  the  unusual  heat  had  come,  cramped  and 
restless. 

It  maddened  her  to  have  to  make  plans.  Where 
should  she  go  ?  How  like  that  little  wretch  Pammy 
to  go  and  have  measles  now. 

She  would  go  to  Golden  Square  as  soon  as  it  got 
a  little  cooler  and  make  Victor  play  to  her.  They 


THE    HALO  217 

might  go  for  a  drive  later.  Or  she  might  make  Theo 
take  her  for  a  walk  in  the  park.  Suddenly  she  heard 
a  slight  scratching  noise  in  the  entry,  and  rose.  The 
porter,  to  save  himself  trouble,  was  letting  some 
visitor  in  unannounced.  She  would  murder  that 
porter. 

But  when  she  saw  the  visitor  she  forgot  the  guilty 
official. 

"Gerald!" 

"  Yes,  Brigit.    Do — do  you  mind?  " 

"  I — yes,  I  mind,  of  course  I  do.  Why  have  you 
come?" 

Carron,  who  was  very  smartly  dressed  and  who 
looked  wretchedly  ill,  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  It  is  nearly  four  months  ago,"  he  murmured.  "  I 
— I  hoped  you  would  have  forgiven  me." 

"  Well,  I  haven't.    So  please  go." 

Her  ill-humour,  accumulating  ever  since  the  re 
ceipt  of  the  wire  from  the  Lenskys,  seemed  about  to 
burst.  She  looked  exceedingly  angry,  and  the  poor 
wretch  in  the  chair  before  her  trembled  as  he  looked 
at  her. 

"  D — don't  be  so  hard  on  me,  Bicky." 

"  Don't  call  me  Bicky.  And  please  go.  I  don't 
want  to  be  rude,  but  I  shall  lose  my  temper  if  you 
don't." 

Carron's  pinched  face  quivered.  "  I — I  am  very 
ill,  Brigit,"  he  said  in  a  hurried,  deprecating  way. 
u  I — I  am  not  sleeping  at  all,  my  nerves  are — rotten. 
And  I  thought  I'd  die  if  I  couldn't  see  you.  Don't 
be  any  harder  on  me  than — than  necessary." 


218  THE     HALO 

She  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  and  looked 
at  him  closely. 

"  You  do  look  ill — very  ill.  And  you  look — I  say, 
Gerald,  are  you  taking  anything?" 

He  gave  a  shrill,  cackling  laugh.  "  Taking 
anything.  No.  You  mean  morphine  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind?  Pas  si  bete,  my  dear.  Oh,  no, 
I  have  always  had  a  perfect  horror  of  anything  like 
that.  W— why?" 

"  Because — I  think  you  are"  she  returned  coolly. 
"  Show  me  your  left  arm,  Gerald." 

"  No,  no,  you  are  mad,  my  dear, — I  assure  you  I 
don't.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour " 

She  came  to  him,  and  taking  his  arm  in  her  strong 
hands  pushed  up  his  sleeves  and  studied  his  emaciated 
arm  for  a  few  seconds  in  silence. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  she  commented,  as  he  al 
most  whimpered  in  his  helpless  annoyance. 

"  You  are  so  rough,  Brigit.  Tony  always  says 
you  are  so  rough." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Well — I  am  sorry  for  you,  Gerald. 
When  did  you  begin?" 

"  Oh — long  ago.  But — I  seem  to  need  more  of 
late." 

"  Took  it  at  first  to  make  you  sleep,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes.  And  then — well  you  see,  I  like  it.  And 
it's  nobody's  business,"  he  finished  defiantly. 

"  That's  true.    Would  you  like  some  tea  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Brigit.  You  are  kind.  It  is  good  of 
you  to  forgive  me." 

"  I  haven't  forgiven  you,"  she  retorted,  going  to 


THE     HALO  219 

the  tea  table,  "  but  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Where  have 
you  been  of  late?  " 

"  Oh,  all  about,  as  usual.  I  came  up  from  More- 
cambe  yesterday.  Rotten  party.  Have  you  seen 
your  mother?  " 

Brigit's  lips  tightened.     "  No." 

"  I  saw  her  three  weeks  ago.  She  is  very  much 
hurt  by  your  behaviour." 

"  Broken-hearted,  I  should  think!  " 

"  Well,  she's  queer  enough,  I  grant  you,  and  not 
over-motherly,  but — she  is  your  mother  when  all's 
said  and  done." 

The  girl  watched  the  kettle  boil  and  said  nothing. 

'*  Tommy  is  coming  on  wonderfully  with  his  violin, 
isn't  he?  "  pursued  Carron. 

"Yes." 

"  Does  he  come  here  often?  " 

She  looked  up,  frowning.  "  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  he  has  never  been  here,"  she  returned 
shortly.  "  Do  you  like  your  tea  strong?  " 

"  Yes,  please,  no  milk.  Well — you  must  miss 
him." 

"  And  you  know  perfectly  well  that  I  see  him 
twice  a  week  at  Joyselle's." 

Carron  took  his  cup  with  trembling  hands  and  set 
it  down  carefully  on  the  table. 

'*  You  needn't  snap  my  head  off,"  he  observed. 

"No.  But  why  play  comedy?  Mother  has  told 
you  all  about  it,  so  I  can't  see  the  use  of  this  sort  of 
humbug." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  began  in  a 


220  THE     HALO 

new  voice.  "  Brigit,  I — I  really  have  something  to 
say  to  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It's  this.  That  day — the  last  time  I  saw  you, 
you  know,  your  mother  was  standing  up  for  you 
when  you  came  in.  She — refused  to  believe  me  when 
I,  when  I " 

"  I  know.     But  when  I  came  in  she  was " 

"  She  was  simply  being  good  to  me.  Look  here, 
Brigit,  really  and  truly,  she  was.  She  went  for  me 
when  I  said— that.  And  your  coming  in  in  a  temper 
was  what — upset  the  apple-cart." 

Brigit  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"  Right.  Now  let's  talk  about  something  else. 
When  did  you  see  Tommy?  " 

"  A  week  ago.    He  is  in  town  now." 

"  I  know.     I  shall  see  him  to-morrow." 

"At  Joyselle's?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Brigit — you  can  see  what  a  'wreck  I  am.  Tell 
me.  Are  you  going  to  marry  that  boy  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"When?" 

"  In  October." 

«  Then " 

She  rose.  u  I  am  a  model  of  patience,  Gerald,  but 
you  have  asked  enough  questions." 

"  But — well,  I  am  sorry  I  was  such  a  beast.  Can 
you  endure  seeing  me  once  in  a  long  time — say  once 
a  month?  It — it  may  make  life  possible  to  me — 


THE    HALO  221 

don't  say  that  you  don't  see  the  necessity  for  that! 
Brigit " 

"  But  it  is  so  useless,  Gerald,  and  so  painful " 

"  No.  And  I  can  tell  you  all  kind  of  things  about 
people — you  must  be  lonely!  Tommy  is  only  a  kid 

after  all,  and  doesn't  hear By  the  way,  why 

does  he  never  come  here?  " 

She  hesitated.  "Do  you  really  not  know?" 
Then,  seeing  sincerity  in  his  eyes,  she  went  on. 
"  Well — Joyselle  made  me  promise  mother  that." 

"  Made  you !  " 

"  Yes.  He — you  see  he  is  old-fashioned.  And — 
well,  in  two  words  he  said  that  unless  I  promised  he 
— he — would  not  teach  Tommy  or  even  see  him !  " 

Carron  whistled.    "  Well,  I'll  be  damned!  " 

"Yes.  Absurd,  wasn't  it?  But Oh,  well, 

there's  no  use  in  explaining." 

As  she  spoke  she  heard  the  introductory  scraping 
at  the  keyhole  again,  and  a  moment  later  Tommy 
came  in. 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

A  REMARKABLY  dandified  Tommy;  a  solemn 
and  significant  Tommy,  who  shook  hands  solemnly 
with  his  sister  and  Carron  and  then  sat  down  and 
took  off  his  gloves. 

"  I  have  come  on  business,  Brigit,"  he  announced 
quietly. 

Carron  rose.  "  Then  I  will  go.  Thanks  very 
much,  Brigit,  for  your  hospitality — and  I  will  look 
in  again  in  three  or  four  weeks,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Tommy's  frame  of  mind  was  too  dignified  to  per 
mit  of  his  staring,  but  he  was  obviously  surprised 
at  Carron's  presence,  and  when  the  man  had  gone 
he  said  with  considerable  importance:  "Since  when 
has  Carron  been  calling  on  you?  " 

"  This  is  the  first  time.  Oh,  Tommy — should  you 
have  come  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  left  mother  at  Aunt  Emily's,"  he 
answered,  his  voice  explaining  plainly  what  his  dig 
nity  forbade  his  putting  into  words. 

So  her  mother  knew ! 

"New  clothes;  also  gloves;  also  something  smelly 
and  'very  nice  on  your  hair !  " 

Brigit  bent  over  and  kissed  him  tenderly,  her  face 
very  sweet  with  affection.  "  Please  elucidate,  little 
brother.  Has  mother  sent  you?  " 


THE    HALO  223 

"  No.    She  knows  I  have  come,  though." 

"Some  tea?" 

"  If  you  please." 

So  she  lit  the  kettle  and  going  to  a  cupboard  pro 
duced  two  enchanting-looking  white  jars.  "  Mar 
malade  or  cherry  jam?  " 

"  I  think — neither,  please,"  returned  Kingsmead, 
with  an  effort.  "  I — am  not  hungry." 

It  was  all  very  mysterious,  and  Brigit,  scanning 
the  little  boy's  face,  saw  that  he  was  nervous  as  well 
as  important;  pale  as  well  as  elegant  in  attire.  So 
she  made  the  tea  and  gave  him  a  cup  in  silence. 

After  a  long  pause  he  cleared  his  throat  and  be 
gan.  "  Brigit,  of  course  I'm  only  a  kid — and  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Yes,  dear?" 

"  And  you  are  grown  up,  and  have  a  great  deal 
more — well,  experience  than  I.  And  then  you  are 
very  beautiful,  and  I  am — not,"  he  added  with  a 
flicker  of  irrepressible  mirth  that  was  immediately 
quenched. 

"Yes,  Tommy?" 

"  Well — I  just  say  all  that,  dear  old  thing,  so  you 
won't  think  me  sidey,  you  know." 

"  I  don't,  Tommy.  In  fact,  I  have  sometimes 
observed  in  you  symptoms  of  almost  radical " 

"  Don't  laugh,  Brigit,"  he  broke  in  with  a  quaint 
wave  of  his  hand.  "  What  I  mean  to  say  is  simply 
this.  I  am,  although  so  young,  and  not  very  big — 
the  Head  of  the  Family." 

This  magnificent   declaration   was   so   unlike   his 


224  THE     HALO 

usual  style  of  conversation  that  his  sister  with 
difficulty  refrained  from  laughing. 

"  Well,  Tommy — yes,  there  would  be  no  use  in 
my  denying  that  you,  not  I,  are  the  Earl  of  Kings- 
mead.  But — your  manner  is  somewhat  solemn; 
surely  you  are  not  thinking  of  marrying?" 

The  earPs  mouth  broadened  spasmodically,  and 
his  eyes  gleamed  with  amusement. 

"  I  say,  Bick,  if  you  laugh  at  me,  how  on  earth  am 
I  ever  to  get  it  said?  " 

"  All  right.  Only  take  some  jam  and  don't  terrify 
me  with  magnificence.  This  is  the  first  time  to  my 
knowledge  that  an  earl  has  ever  shed  the  effulgence 
of  his  presence  in  these  humble  walls " 

Tommy's  grandeur  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  with  a 
yell  of  delight  he  dived  deep  into  one  of  the  jars  and 
heaped  his  plate  with  suspiciously  crimson  cherry 
jam. 

u  Good  old  Bick!  I  must  have  looked  an  awful 
little  ass.  But — well,  will  you  chuck  it  all  and  come 
home?" 

"Oho!" 

"  Yes,  '  oho '  as  much  as  you  like,  but  it  is  all  rot 
your  living  here,  and  she  hates  it,  and  it's  unpleasant 
all  round.  Besides  the  country  is  really  lovely  now, 
and  I  miss  you." 

"  Do  you,  Tommy  dear?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Did  mother  send  you?" 

"  No.  She  said  you  wouldn't  come  if  she  did,  but 
that  you  might  if  I — if  I " 


THE    HALO  225 

"If  you  exerted  your  authority  as  Head  of  the 
Family!" 

"  Well,  yes."  Tommy,  now  completely  shame 
faced,  took  more  jam  and  handed  back  his  cup. 

"  She  is  funny,"  mused  Brigit.  "  To  have  so  little 
sense  of  humour." 

"  That's  what  I  told  her.  But  Aunt  Emily  says 
people  are  talking  about  your  living  alone,  etc.  And 
— besides,  I  think  she  is  really  rather  fond  of  you, 
Bick." 

"  Oh,  no,  she  isn't.  However,  M.  1'Ambassadeur, 
you  have  fulfilled  your  mission,  so  be  content." 

Tommy  paused  in  his  task  of  biting  into  a  piece 
of  cake  and  looked  up  at  her.  "  Then — you  will?  " 

"  No,  dear;  I  most  certainly  won't.  But  don't  you 
bother  about  that.  I  like  this  very  well,  and  after 
all  it  isn't  for  long." 

"  Oh.  You  mean  you  are  going  to  marry  Theo. 
When?" 

"  In  October,  probably.  Nothing  is  settled. 
More  jam?  " 

"  No,  thanks.  I  say,  Bicky,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  in  September?" 

"  I  don't  know.    Why?" 

"  Because  they  are  all  going  to  La-bas,  to  the 
Golden  Wedding.  They  were  talking  about  it  the 
other  day.  Are  you  going,  too?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  no.  But  I  daresay  I 
shall  be  with  the  Lenskys  then.  I  can't  go  now, 
because  one  of  the  children  is  ill." 

Tommy  rose  and  looked  at  his  watch,  a  shadow  of 


226  THE     HALO 

his  former  proud  manner  settling  on  him  as  he  put 
on  his  gloves.  "  She  will  be  very  much  disap 
pointed/'  he  remarked,  "  but  I  don't  see  how  she 
can  forbid  my  coming  here  now,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  she  can't.  And  oh,  Tommy,  I 
have  missed  you!  Are  you  at  Golden  Square  to 
night?" 

"  Yes.     Coming  to  supper?  " 

"  I  think  so.    Good-bye,  you  darling  little  boy." 

After  he  had  closed  the  door,  Tommy  pounded  on 
it  until  she  opened  it. 

"  I  say,  Bicky,  what  happens  to  ambassadors  who 
fail  in  their  missions?"  he  asked,  winking  delight 
edly. 


CHAPTER   NINETEEN 


YELLOW  DOG  PAPILLON  lay  asleep  on  the 
Chesterfield  in  Joyselle's  room.  He  was  dreaming 
an  enchanting  dream  about  a  particularly  aromatic 
bone  that  he  found  in  a  dust-bin  —  a  ham-bone  slashed 
by  a  careless  hand  and  cast  away  before  all  meat  had 
been  removed  from  it  —  a  bone  for  which  any  dog 
would  have  risked  much. 

So  it  was  tiresome  to  be  awakened  by  a  sound  of 
low  voices. 

Opening  one  eye  warily  Yellow  Dog  Papillon 
looked  up  and  saw  something  he  had  of  late  seen 
several  times,  his  beloved  master  standing  by  the 
Girl  Who  Had  Sometimes  Just  Come  from  a  Cat. 

The  girl  had  water  in  her  eyes,  too. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Victor,"  she  was  saying,  "  but 
I  cannot,  and  will  not.  I  can't  see  why  you  should 


care." 


"  But  I  do  care.  You  know  that  I  have  always 
hated  it.  And  Tommy  told  me  himself  that  she  let 
him  go  with  the  express  purpose  of  making  up  with 
you.  It  is  your  duty  to  go  back." 

She  drew  away  from  him. 

"  I  cannot." 

"  You  mean  you  will  not." 

"  Exactly;  I  will  not." 

Yellow  Dog  did  not  understand  all  of  this  dia 
logue,  but  he  knew  his  master's  face  as  well  as  his 


228  THE    HALO 

voice,  and  because  he  liked  the  Girl  Who  Had  Some 
times  Just  Come  from  a  Cat,  he  would  have  liked  to 
advise  her  to  lay  down  her  arms  at  once.  u  No  good 
opposing  him  when  his  eyes  are  like  that,"  he  said 
to  himself;  "  if  it  was  me,  I'd  just  sit  up  and  beg  and 
make  him  laugh." 

But  Brigit  would  not  condescend  to  sit  up  and 
beg. 

"  There's  no  use  in  discussing  it,"  she  said  very 
coldly,  "  for  I  will  not  go  back." 

Joyselle  watched  her  in  silence  for  a  long  time. 
"  Not  even  if  I  entreat  you?"  he  asked  in  a  gentle 
voice. 

Her  lips  tightened,  for  tenderness  with  coercion 
behind  it  had  no  delusions  for  her. 

"  Not  even  if  you  entreat  me.  I  have  told  you 
that  I  dislike  my  mother  and  I  do  not  wish  to  see 
her.  I  will  not  tell  you  why,  and  that,  at  least,  you 
ought  to  approve  of." 

"  It  is  horrible  for  a  daughter  to  say  that  she  does 
not  like  her  mother " 

"  It  is  horrible  for  me  not  to  like  her,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  And  it  is  not  horrible  for  me  to  tell — any 
thing  to  you." 

But  his  face  did  not  soften.  "  I  wish  you  to  go  to 
Kingsmead,  Brigit." 

"  I  will  not  go  to  Kingsmead,  Victor." 

"  Then,"  his  anger  now  finally  blazed  up,  "  I  can 
say  only — good-bye." 

Her  face  was  as  white  and  as  hard  as  his  own,  and 
being  a  woman  she  could  even  laugh. 


THE     HALO  229 

"  Adieu,  done — Beau-pere!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  You  will  not — 
surely  you  cannot  mean  that  you  will " 

"  But  I  do !  "  He  himself  had  suggested  a  re 
venge  to  her.  "  If  you  and  I  quarrel,  I  will  most 
certainly  not  marry  your  son." 

For  a  moment  the  father  in  him  dominated  the 
mere  man,  and  his  eloquence  was  great  as  he 
reproached  her. 

"  No — no,  I  am  not  cruel,"  she  answered  cruelly, 
her  anger  reinforced  by  a  wave  of  jealousy  anent 
Theo,  "  but  as  I  do  not  love  him,  why  should  I  marry 
him?  And  this  kind  of  thing  had  far  better  cease. 
After  all,  you  care  for  him  far  more  than  you  care 
forme." 

"  Grand  Dieu!  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  you  do,"  she  went  on  in  the  tone 
of  gentle,  unimpassioned  reason  that  women  some 
times  use  in  violent  anger,  to  the  utter  amazement 
and  undoing  of  their  male  opponents.  "  And  more 
over,  I  daresay  if  I  really  loved  you  as  much  as  I 
thought  I  did,  I  should  be  unable  to  refuse  to  do 
what  you  wish  about  my  mother." 

Joyselle's  face  was  very  white. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  mean  that  your 
love  for  me  was  a  mere  caprice,  and  that — it  has 
gone?" 

His  agony  was  unconcealed,  and  as  she  gazed 
she  smiled,  for  her  own  torture  was  nearly  unbear 
able. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  it  was  only  a  caprice " 


230  THE    HALO 

She  hesitated,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

Suddenly  he  rose  and  seizing  her  arm  roughly, 
gave  her  another  cue,  which  she  remorselessly  and 
instantly  took. 

"  There  is  someone  else,"  he  cried,  utterly  for 
getting  that  the  very  day  before  she  had  loved  him 
madly,  "  you  love  some  other  man.  Tell  me  who 
it  is!" 

And  with  the  extraordinary  fortitude  common  to 
fanatics  and  furious  women,  she  smiled  and 
answered : 

"  Perhaps!     Tout  passe,  mon  cher" 

It  was  a  cheap  and  melodramatic  bit  of  acting, 
and  any  unprejudiced  onlooker  must  have  seen  the 
agony  in  her  face,  but  Joyselle  was  blinded  by  his 
own  pain  and  fled  from  the  room  without  another 
word. 

She  heard  a  door  slam  and  knew  that  he  had  gone 
out.  And  the  world  came  to  an  end  for  her. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock,  and  Tommy  had  gone 
out  with  Theo.  They  would  not  be  back  until  about 
eight. 

Felicite,  too,  was  out.  She  was  alone.  She  saw 
Papillon,  who  was  sitting  up,  looking  at  her  with  a 
world  of  sympathy  in  the  cock  of  his  ear. 

Suddenly  Brigit  burst  into  tears,  nervous,  hyster 
ical,  noisy  sobbing,  as  she  had  done  that  day  in  the 
olive  grove  at  the  Villa  Arcadie.  She  had  been  living 
under  great  nervous  strain  for  months,  and  these 
breakdowns  were  of  appalling  violence.  She  could 


THE    HALO  231 

not  stop  crying,  and  she  could  not  reason  and  tell 
herself  that  he  would  come  back  and  forgive  her. 

All  she  could  realise  was  her  hideous  misery  and 
sense  of  desolation.  She  was  utterly  alone,  she  was 
hungry,  she  was  cold,  she  was  hopeless. 

Presently  someone  touched  her  shoulder  very 
gently.  It  was  Felicite. 

u  What  is  it,  my  dear?"  the  elder  woman  asked. 
"What  has  happened?" 

And  Brigit,  too  unstrung  to  tell  the  usual  con 
ventional  lies,  simply  sobbed  on,  her  whole  body 
shaking  with  agony. 

Madame  Joyselle  sat  patiently  by  her,  stroking 
her  shoulders  with  a  kind  hand,  murmuring  little 
broken  phrases  in  French,  patting  her  hair. 

u  Out,  out,  ma  mie — Pauvre  petite,  qa  te  soula- 
gera — Pleures,  ma  cocotte,  'pleures!  " 

And  at  last  the  girl  was  quiet,  and  reached  for  her 
handkerchief. 

"  I — I  am  sorry  to  have  been  so  idiotic,  I  don't 
know  why  I  am  such  a  fool " 

Felicite  smoothed  back  her  wet  hair  and  smiled  at 
her. 

"  Poor  child,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  I  am  so 
sorry.  I  have  seen  it  for  some  time " 

Brigit  stared  at  her. 

"Seen ?" 

"  That  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  Victor.  It  is 
really  too  bad  of  him,  the  old  rascal." 

Her  gentle  face  was  so  undisturbed,  so  calmly 
acceptant  of  the  heinous  fact  that  Brigit  could  do 


232  THE     HALO 

nothing  but  stare.  "  I  am  glad  poor  Theo  does  not 
suspect,"  went  on  Felicite,  untying  the  strings  of  her 
old-fashioned  bonnet,  "  we  must  not  let  him  know, 
n'est  ce  pas?  " 

"  I — I  don't  see — — "  stammered  the  girl,  blankly. 

"  No,  he  must  not  know.  Nor  Victor  either,  if 
we  can  help  it.  Though  he  is  very  vain,  and  vain 
men  always  see.  On  the  whole,"  she  added  with  a 
kind  of  gentle  amusement,  "  you  have  all  been  ab 
surdly  blind  but  me.  And  I  did  not  like  to  warn 
you." 

"  This  is — very  extraordinary,"  began  Brigit, 
rising.  "  I  don't  quite  see " 

But  Felicite  drew  her  down  to  her  chair  again. 
"  That  is  just  it,  ma  pauvre  petite.  I  did  see.  I  saw 
his  little  fancy  for  you,  too.  It  began  the  evening 
of  the  dragon-skin  frock,  and  it  lasted,  oh — about  a 
month.  And  you  never  noticed  it,  poor  child.  And 
now  you  are  miserable  about  him.  I  am  so  sorry." 

There  was  such  convincing  sincerity  in  her  every 
tone  that  Brigit  could  not  even  pretend  to  be  angry. 

"  You  must  think  me  very  silly,"  she  murmured. 

But  the  little  woman  shook  her  head,  "  Non,  non, 
it  is  not  silly  to  love.  It  is  unwise,  or  wrong,  or 
heavenly,  or  mad,  but  silly,  non.  And  he  is  very 
attractive,  mon  homme."  This  tribute  she  added 
reluctantly,  as  if  from  a  sense  of  fairness.  "  And 
many  have  loved  him." 

Suddenly  Brigit's  anger  flamed  up. 

"  And — I  am  so  insignificant  that  you  are  not 
afraid  of  me,"  she  cried.  "  What  if  he  had  not  got 


THE     HALO  233 

over  it?  What  if  he  loved  me  as  much — more  than 
I  love  him?" 

Felicite  smiled  serenely  and  sweetly. 

"  No,  I  know  him.  I  saw  it  come — and  go.  But 
do  not  be  angry  and  proud,  my  dear.  I  wish  only 
to  help  you." 

And  Brigit,  touched  by  her  kindness  as  well  as 
terrified  by  her  own  indiscretion,  sat  down  by  her. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

WHEN  Joyselle  came  in  at  eight  o'clock  he  went 
straight  to  his  room  to  dress.  He  was  still  very 
angry,  but  his  anger  was  less  poignant  than  his  sense 
of  helpless  defeat.  Brigit's  attitude  was  absolutely 
incomprehensible  to  him,  and  hurt  him  in  an  almost 
unbearable  degree.  That  she  should  defy  him,  grow 
as  angry  as  he  himself,  he  had  already  learned  was 
not  impossible;  but  the  cruel  hardness  of  her  face  as 
she  had  sent  him  away  had  shocked  him  more  than 
anything  in  his  whole  experience. 

He  was  a  shrewd  man,  and  his  love  for  her  had 
never  blinded  him  as  to  her  faults;  often  he  had  cor 
rected  her  for  unfilial  behaviour,  for  a  too  sharp 
word,  for  selfishness.  But  the  one  quality  which  to 
a  strong  and  tender  man  is  unendurable  in  the 
woman  he  loves,  cruelty,  he  had  never  before  real 
ised  in  the  girl,  and  his  discovery  that  it  lay  in  her 
to  hurt  him  as  she  had  done,  had  nearly  broken  his 
heart. 

For  hours  he  had  walked  rapidly  through  the 
streets,  seeing  no  one,  avoiding  being  knocked  down 
by  a  kind  of  subconscious  attention  and  alertness 
of  mind,  his  brain  struggling  desperately  with  its 
problem. 

In  a  few  words,  all  life  seemed  to  him  to  have 
reduced  itself  to  the  question,  "How  could  she?" 
As  yet  he  had  not  got  further  than  this,  and  it  did 


THE     HALO  235 

not  occur  to  him  to  wonder  whether  or  no  her  mental 
attitude  was  definite  or  only  temporary.  "  How 
could  she?  How  could  she  so  rend  him?  Of  what 
was  her  heart  made  that  it  could  allow  her  so  to 
wound  his?  " 

When  he  reached  home  the  incomprehensibility  of 
this  problem  was  fast  outweighing  his  anger,  and 
Felicite,  who  came  in  as  he  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  brushing  his  hair,  smiled  at  the  misery  in 
his  face. 

"So  she  was  cruel,  the  little  one?"  she  asked 
gently,  sitting  down  and  folding  her  hands  in  her 
characteristic  way. 

"  She  was — abominable.  But  how  did  you 
know?" 

"  I  found  her  in  tears.  You  must  be  gentle  with 
her,  my  man." 

He  stared.  "Gentle?  But  she  is  a  demon  when 
she  is  angry.  Tell  me  to  be  gentle  with  an  enraged 
lioness." 

Felicite's  smile  was  good  to  see.  "  She  is  not  an 
enraged  lioness,  Victor.  She  is — very  unhappy,  and 
we  must  help  her." 

He  went  to  the  dressing-table  and  put  down  his 
brushes.  "I  am  tired,  wife,"  he  said  quietly;  "let 
us  talk  of  something  else.  Besides,  it  is  nearly  half- 
past  eight." 

She  nodded. 

"  Yes.  But — Victor,  you  remember  the  Polish 
girl?" 

"Franska?    Yes." 


236  THE    HALO 

"  Well?  And  the  pantomimiste,  and  Miss  Belton, 
and  Lady  Paula " 

Joyselle  started  in  the  act  of  shaking  scent  on  his 
handkerchief.  "  Of  course  I  remember  them.  But 
what  have  they  to  do  with  Brigitte  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  Victor.  The  poor  child  is  in  love  with 
you,  vieux  vaurien!  And  that  is  why  she  is  so  sav- 
age." 

She  sat  quite  still,  looking  up  at  him  with  an  indul 
gent  smile,  into  which  the  maternal  element  largely 
entered.  He  was  a  fatal  person,  this  great  fiddler  of 
hers;  but  to  her  he  was  also  a  child  to  be  cared  for, 
and  a  not  quite  normal  being,  to  whose  absent  mind 
much  must  be  explained. 

Her  charming  face,  almost  old  in  spite  of  its  fresh 
colour,  was  touched,  as  she  watched  his  back,  with  a 
flicker  of  kindly  mischief. 

"  And  to  think  that  you  did  not  know,  blind  one," 
she  teased. 

"  It — it  is  your  imagination,"  he  returned  with  a 
slight  stammer,  turning  and  facing  her. 

"  No,  no.  Also  I  did  not  imagine  that  at  first  you, 
too,  were  a  little  epris.  It  was  most  natural,  my 
dear.  She  is  so  very  beautiful.  I  was  glad  when  it 
passed.  It  was  the  day  of  the  long  discussion  about 
the  wedding — the  day  of  the  letter  from  your  mother 
— do  you  remember?  When  you  rushed  away  like  a 
whirlwind?  " 

"  Yes— I  remember." 

"  Well,  when  you  returned,  you  were  quiet  and  a 
little  pale,  and  I  understood.  The  talk  about  Theo's 


THE    HALO  237 

wedding  had  put  things  into  their  right  places  in 
your  mind,  silly  old  child,  \pas?  And  then  you 
brought  her  back  here  after  the  dance,  and — all  was 
well" 

Joyselle  stood  quite  still.  He  was  bitterly  ashamed 
of  himself  for  deceiving  this  dear,  good  woman,  who 
was  so  innocently  believing  in  him,  but  he  could  say 
nothing.  All  was  well,  she  said,  when  he  came  home 
that  evening  after  Brigit  had  come  to  him  in  the 
studio.  Yes,  but  it  was  because  he  knew  then  that 
she  loved  him;  because  his  scruples  were  for  the  time 
overwhelmed  by  the  irresistible  force  of  their  passion 
for  each  other;  because  the  glory  of  the  present 
blinded  his  eyes  to  any  visualising  of  the  future. 

That  love,  like  everything  else,  must  go  through  a 
series  of  mathematically  exact  evolutions,  Joyselle  of 
course,  in  his  present  frame  of  mind,  could  not  real 
ise.  To  him,  as  to  every  lover,  the  happenings  and 
exigencies  of  his  situation  seemed  those  of  pure  haz 
ard,  and  this  phase,  as  he  listened  to  his  wife's  inter 
pretation  of  it,  appeared  to  him  absolutely  the  result 
of  a  chance  quarrel  with  Brigit. 

"  She  is  distressed  and  very  tragic  about  it  all," 
continued  Felicite.  "  Of  course  she  would  be  tragic; 
it  is  her  nature.  She  no  doubt  believes  that  she  will 
never  get  over  it.  It  is  a  pity,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Out,  oui."  He  had  again  turned  away,  and 
stood  by  the  window  polishing  his  nails,  of  which  he 
was  very  vain,  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  The  only  thing  that  troubles  me  is — Theo.  It 
would  break  his  heart,  poor  child.  He,  too,"  she 


238  THE     HALO 

added,  still  with  her  kindly  cynicism,  "  would  think 
she  will  never  get  over  it.  It  is  thus  that  all  lovers 
think.  But — what  are  we  to  do,  Victor?  I  have 
been  thinking  much  about  it.  Shall  we  try  separa 
tion — from  you — for  her?  Or  would  that  make  it 
worse?  She  is  not  patient,  and  she  has  no  discipline 
or  self-control.  She  might  do  something  foolish." 

"  Why  should  she  do  something  foolish,  if  it  is 
only  a — passionette?  "  he  asked  harshly,  for  he  did 
not  enjoy  his  wife's  hypothesis. 

"It  is  not  the  greatest  loves  that  are  the  most 
desperate,  my  dear.  But  we  must  go  down.  Be 
kind  to  her.  Remember  that  she  is  young,  and  that 
her  imagination  has  made  a  king  of  you." 

Joyselle  frowned  ferociously  as  he  followed  his 
wife  downstairs.  He  did  not  like  being  taken  into 
her  confidence  in  this  way,  and  her  calm  assumption 
that  he,  too,  regarded  Brigit  as  a  silly  schoolgirl  who 
must  be  managed  into  giving  up  a  childish  fancy  for 
an  old  man  cut  him  to  the  quick.  When  they  reached 
his  study  they  found  Theo  sitting  at  the  piano  play 
ing  with  the  parrot,  while  Brigit  stood,  looking  like 
a  thunder  cloud,  at  an  open  window.  Joyselle  started 
as  he  saw  her  face.  Surely  its  expression  must  rouse 
even  Felicite's  slow  suspicion! 

And  never,  for  his  sins,  he  told  himself  grimly, 
had  she  been  more  beautiful.  Her  storm  of  tears 
had  left  her  eyes  unswollen,  but  shadowy  and  unusu 
ally  melting,  while  her  face,  as  white  as  paper,  was 
the  face  of  one  who  had  been  face  to  face  with  a 
horrible  death. 


THE    HALO  239 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  having  been — rude,"  she 
said  to  him  sulkily,  holding  out  her  hand,  which  was 
as  cold  as  ice. 

"  But  it  is  I,"  he  murmured,  touching  his  lips  to 
her  fingers  and  feeling  her  quiver  as  he  did  so.  "  It 
is  that  we  both  have  what  you  English  call  bad 
tempers,  pas?" 

"  You  must  have  been  very  bad  this  time,  papa," 
commented  Theo,  closing  the  cage  door  on  le  Con- 
querant  and  joining  them.  "  Brigit  is  very  angry. 
Look  at  her!  " 

"  I  am  not  angry,  Theo.  But — quarrelling  is  dis 
gusting." 

Why  she  had  stayed  the  girl  hardly  knew.  She 
had  not  forgiven  Joyselle,  and  her  apology  was  a 
mere  concession  to  the  feelings  of  Felicite  and 
Theo. 

Joyselle  had  hurt  her,  but  her  treatment  of  him 
had  so  wounded  herself  that  she  could  not  forgive 
him.  All  of  which  is  quite  illogical  and  quite  fem 
inine. 

"  I  will  go  away — anywhere — to-morrow,"  she 
told  herself  as  she  ate  her  supper.  "  Theo  will  not 
know  why,  and  Felicite  will  not  tell.  This  sort  of 
thing  cannot  go  on.  This  is  the  fifth  row  in  the  last 
month.  We  are  both  too  pig-headed.  It's  no  use 
trying  to  keep  the  peace.  I  suppose  if  I  were  his 
mistress  he  would  be  easier  to  manage — or  I  should. 
The  truth  is,  we  are  both  struggling  for  supremacy, 
and  we  can  neither  of  us  drive  the  other." 

Joyselle,    with    a    great    effort,    chattered    gaily 


24o  THE     HALO 

throughout  the  meal.  His  thoughts,  too,  were  in  a 
turmoil,  for  he  knew  that  her  apology  had  been 
offered  merely  on  Theo's  account,  and  he  also  knew 
that  something  was  going  to  happen. 

Felicite,  sincerely  sorry  for  Brigit  and  anxious 
anent  Theo,  talked  more  than  usual,  so  that  the  un 
congenial  gathering  was  more  voluble  and  noisy  than 
usual. 

At  its  close  Felicite  called  her  son  to  her  room 
under  some  pretext  or  other,  and  Joyselle  and  Brigit 
went  alone  to  his  study.  He  closed  the  door  very 
quietly,  and  then  turning  to  her,  caught  her  hands 
threateningly. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do?  "  She  raised  her  eyebrows.  "  I  am  going, 
of  course." 

"Where?" 

She  smiled. 

"  Sais  pas.  Let  go  my  hands,  please ;  you  hurt  me 
— Beau-papa !  " 

He  flung  away  from  her  and  stood  by  the  window, 
staring  with  blinded  eyes  into  the  street. 

"  This  is  really  no  good,  you  know,"  she  went  on 
in  a  conversational  tone;  "  we  quarrel  and  squabble 
and  are  no  earthly  use  to  each  other — the  whole  posi 
tion  is  bad.  I  think  I  will  tell  Theo,  and  go." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  after  a  pause  she  added: 
"  Or  marry  him  by  special  license  the  day  after  to 
morrow,  and  make  him  take  me — somewhere — for  a 
few  months." 

"A— ah!" 


THE     HALO  241 

She  smiled  at  his  groan. 

"  You  and  I  have  made  fools  of  ourselves,  haven't 
we?  But  it  was  natural.  I  am  very  beautiful,  and 
you  are  a  very  great  genius,  so " 

Maddened  at  her  tone  of  indifferent  justice,  he 
turned,  his  face  drawn  with  pain. 

"  So  it  was  natural?  A  childish  fancy  on  your 
part,  a  senile  one  on  mine?  A  thing  to — laugh  at 
already!  Oh,  how  can  you  torture  me  like  this? 
You — you ' ' 

"  Devil?  Or  demon?  "  Her  voice  was  mocking, 
but  her  lips  had  paled,  and  she  gasped  a  little  as  if 
breathless. 

"  Let's  not  be  melodramatic,  please.  Call  it  what 
you  like.  I  was  at  least  perfectly  sincere." 

"  You  were  sincere " 

"  Yes.  Listen."  Advancing  swiftly  to  where  he 
stood,  she  had  the  amazing  courage  to  give  a  little 
laugh.  Then  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Seriously,  let's  be  good  friends  and  forget  all — 
the  rest.  I  have  been  a  fool,  but  you  have  not;  for 
after  all,  I  am  fairly  attractive,  and  you  are  not  the 
first!  So  let's  make  a  bargain:  I  will  never  again 
attract  you;  you  will  never  again  play  at  me.  And 
then  things  will  be  quite  comfy.  Shall  we?  I  have 
been  an  awful  pig  to  Theo,  who  is  a  darling,  and 
from  now  on  I  shall  try  to  make  up  to  him." 

He  shrank  back  from  her. 

"What  are  you?"  he  whispered  painfully. 
"  What  are  you  made  of?  And  do  you  want  to 
make  me  hate  my  own  son  ?  " 


242  THE     HALO 

"Eh,  bien,  are  things  all  right?  " 

Madame  Joyselle  had  come  in,  followed  by  Theo. 
Joyselle,  standing  in  the  shadow,  did  not  answer,  but 
Brigit  laughed  gaily,  and  her  gaiety  was  unfeigned, 
for  she  had  assured  herself,  by  watching  him  under 
torture,  of  the  strength  of  Joyselle's  love  for  her. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE 

THE  next  morning  at  half-past  six  Madame  Joy- 
selle,  creeping  quietly  downstairs,  was,  to  her  amaze 
ment,  overtaken  by  Brigit. 

"  I  have  not  slept,"  the  girl  explained,  "  and  am 
going  for  a  walk.  I  have  promised  to  take  Tommy 
to  see  '  Peter  Pan '  this  afternoon  and  must  feel 
better  when  I  do." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  sleep.  I  am  going  mar 
keting — and  to  Mass." 

They  opened  the  door  and  went  out  into  the  fresh 
morning  air.  Golden  Square  was  asleep  as  yet,  and 
the  well-kept  grass  in  the  garden  looked  pleasantly 
fresh  behind  the  brown  railings. 

"  Come  with  me;  it  will  do  you  good,"  said  the 
older  woman  suddenly,  "  and  it  will  amuse  you  to 
see  France  in  this  old  dark  London  of  ours." 

She  carried  a  large  basket,  and  looked,  in  her  trim 
dark  dress  and  bonnet,  so  exactly  what  she  was  that 
it  occurred  to  Brigit,  by  force  of  contrast,  how  re 
markably  few  people  nowadays  do  look  what  they 
are. 

"  I  will  come  with  pleasure,"  she  said  gently,  as 
they  turned  to  the  left.  "  Where  do  you  go  first?  " 

'*  To  Notre  Dame  de  France  in  Leicester  Street. 
There's  a  Low  Mass  at  seven.  Then  I  must  go  to 
the  butcher  in  Pulteney  Street,  and  to  the  He  de  Java 


244  THE     HALO 

for  coffee.  Toinon,"  she  continued,  reflecting,  paus 
ing  to  give  a  penny  to  a  beggar,  "  is  a  very  good  girl, 
but  she  cannot  buy.  She  simply  takes  what  they 
offer  her,  and  no  housekeeper  can  stand  that,  of 
course." 

Leicester  Street  is  but  a  ten  minutes'  walk  from 
Golden  Square,  and  Brigit  felt  as  she  walked  that  the 
world  was  meant  for  better  things  than  tragedy,  after 
all. 

Her  torture  of  Joyselle  the  evening  before  had 
been  infinitely  cruel,  and  yet  her  love  for  him  had 
grown  as  she  tortured  him.  She  was  as  yet  quite 
unused  to  the  dominion  of  her  own  emotions,  and 
they,  being  so  much  stronger  than  her  self-control, 
had  carried  her  away  with  them.  It  had  been  a  kind 
of  mental  fakirism,  and  as  fakirs  smile  as  they  burn 
and  cut  themselves,  so  she  had  been  able  to  smile  as 
she  burnt  and  cut  at  her  own  heart  in  Joyselle.  Yet 
she  was  not  an  altogether  cruel  woman. 

And  this  quiet  walk  with  the  homely,  good,  little 
Felicite  tranquillised  and  steadied  her  maddened 
nerves  and  brought  reason  to  her  mind. 

Felicite  left  her  basket  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
church,  and  going  in  dipped  her  fingers  into  the  holy 
water  fountain  and  held  her  hand  out  to  Brigit. 

Unconsciously  the  girl  touched  it,  and  then,  as  the 
other  woman  turned  and  knelt  at  one  of  the  worn 
praying-desks,  Brigit  hastily  touched  her  own  fore 
head  and  breast. 

The  drop  of  water  stayed  for  some  seconds  on 
her  forehead,  and  in  its  coolness  seemed  to  burn  her. 


THE     HALO  245 

After  a  short  pause  she  walked  down  the  aisle  and 
sat  down  in  the  second  row  of  seats. 

The  priest  came  out  as  she  took  her  place,  and  the 
Mass  began. 

Its  very  silence  was  restful  to  the  girl,  and  as  she 
watched,  the  sleep  that  had  refused  to  come  to  her 
all  through  the  night  touched  her  eyelids  and  they 
closed  wearily. 

When  she  opened  them  it  was  as  if  a  cool  hand 
had  been  laid  on  her  aching  heart.  Here  was  peace. 

The  Good  Shepherd  in  the  round  window  seemed 
to  mean  much  as  he  looked  down  at  her,  and  even 
the  statue  of  the  Mother  and  Child  in  the  altar  to 
her  left  looked  beautiful  to  her.  "  Salve  Regina, 
Mater  Misericordiae,"  she  read. 

To  the  right  of  the  main  altar  a  group  of  tiny 
votive  candles  were  burning;  an  old  nun  in  a  kind  of 
white  sunbonnet,  draped  with  a  black  gauze  veil, 
dropped  her  rosary  with  a  little  clatter  to  the  wooden 
floor. 

There  were  only  a  dozen  or  so  people  in  the 
church,  but  this  made  no  difference.  The  priest 
would  not  feel  slighted,  as  an  Anglican  curate  might. 
He  had  a  serious  ascetic  face,  and  seemed  not  to 
know  that  any  was  present  beside  his  God  and  him 
self. 

"  I  am  a  brute,"  Brigit  told  herself,  "  a  perfect 
fiend  to  torture  him  so.  Why  cannot  we  be  good  to 
each  other?  And  how  will  it  all  end?  I  will  be 
good  to  him  in  the  future." 

Then  she  shivered,  for  she  was  not  a  child  and 


246  THE     HALO 

realised  perfectly  that  her  "  being  good  "  to  Joyselle 
was  by  no  means  altogether  safe. 

"  It  is  playing  with  fire,"  she  thought.  u  That  is 
one  reason  why  I  am  so  horrid,  perhaps." 

The  priest  had  gone,  and  the  little  congregation, 
with  last  genuflections,  were  hurrying  out  of  the 
church.  Busy  people,  these;  workers  who  before 
their  day's  labour  begins  have  always  time  to  say 
Bonjour  to  their  God. 

"A  beautiful  church,  hein?"  asked  Felicite,  as 
they  came  out  of  the  church.  "  You  liked  it,  my 
daughter?  " 

"  Yes.  I  liked  it.  Where  do  we  go  now,  petite 
mere?" 

More  than  one  passerby  turned  to  stare  at  the 
beautiful  girl  with  the  weary  eyes  and  her  humble 
companion  as  they  made  their  way  towards  Rupert 
Street.  With  the  violently  sudden  change  of  mood 
that  was  part  of  her  character,  Brigit's  spirits  had 
gone  up.  She  would  be  kind  to  Joyselle ;  that  would 
be  being  kind  to  herself,  and  therefore  she  would  be 
happy.  In  an  hour  they  would  be  at  home  and  she 
would  see  him.  A  great  longing  to  feel  his  strong 
arms  round  her  came  to  her,  and  her  face  flushed  as 
she  decided  to  go  to  him  frankly  and  ask  to  be  taken 
back. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  she  said  softly. 

Felicite  smiled  up  at  her. 

"  Yes.  And  it  is  good  to  begin  a  day  by  going  to 
Mass.  It  clears  one's  mind  of  yesterday,  and  to-day 
is — ours,  Brigitte." 


THE    HALO  247 

For  all  her  native  shrewdness,  it  would  not  at  all 
have  surprised  Felicite  if  Brigit  had  suddenly  become 
devote,  and  even  now  as  she  watched  the  girl's  ra 
diant  face  it  seemed  to  the  Norman  that  the  Mass 
had  helped  even  more  than  she  had  ventured  to  hope. 
"  She  is  going  to  try  to  fight  it  down,"  she  thought 
gratefully,  "  and  that  is  all  that  is  necessary." 

M.  Bourbon,  charcutier,  in  Rupert  Street,  has  a 
beautiful  shop  full  of  wonderful  things.  Felicite 
bought  a  pound  of  galantine  de  volaille  truffee,  for 
which  she  paid  two-and-six,  and  for  which  in  Picca 
dilly  she  would  have  paid  five  shillings;  she  bought 
half  a  pound  of  jellied  eel;  she  bought  Pont  1'fiveque 
cheese;  flat  little  Parisian  sausages;  she  bought  a 
glass  jar  of  preserved  pears,  brown  with  cinnamon. 

Then  they  made  their  way  to  the  He  de  Java, 
where  they  acquired  a  large  tin  of  coffee,  on  to  the 
Boucherie  Frangaise,  where  Felicite  had  a  long  dis 
cussion  with  M.  Perigot  lui-meme,  whom  she  insisted 
on  seeing,  to  the  disgust  of  the  young  man  in  attend 
ance,  who  wished  to  look  at  Brigit,  and  whom  fate 
assigned  to  an  ancient  dame  from  Brewer  Street. 

There  were  other  errands  to  be  done,  but  at  last 
they  reached  home,  and  in  the  passage  Felicite 
paused  and  set  down  the  basket. 

"  You  will  find  my  husband  in  his  study,"  she 
said,  looking  earnestly  at  Brigit.  "  Go  to  him,  my 
dear,  and  be  happy.  Remember,  he  is  nearly  an  old 
man,  and  loves  you  like  his  daughter.  And  remem 
ber,  also,  that  because  it  is  not  fitting  in  any  way, 
your  love  for  him  will  change  sooner  or  later,  and 


248  THE     HALO 

become  that  of  a  daughter  for  her  father.  So  don't 
worry." 

Brigit  stood  looking  after  her  for  a  moment,  and 
then  went  slowly  upstairs.  Joyselle,  in  the  crimson- 
velvet  garment,  was  writing  a  letter  as  she  entered; 
he  looked  ill  and  miserably  unhappy. 

u  Victor,"  she  began  without  preamble,  laying  her 
arm  across  his  shoulders  and  pressing  her  cheek  to 
his  hair.  "Will  you  forgive  me?  I — I  love  you." 

Then  she  broke  down  and  cried  in  an  old-fashioned 
and  weakly  feminine  way  that  she  could  not  combat, 
although  she  quite  realised  its  absolute  inappropri- 
ateness  to  her  character. 

"  How  could  you?"  he  whispered,  holding  her 
close  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  the  torturing  for 
mula  of  yesterday  coming  to  his  lips.  "  How  could 
you?" 

His  eyes,  too,  were  wet,  but  her  breakdown  had 
given  him  his  strength  back.  "  I  thought  you  did 
not  care." 

"Not  care!" 

"  But  you  said  so,"  he  persisted,  manlike. 

"  Victor — you  don't  know  how  much  I  love  you, 
and  I  don't  know  how  I  can  be  such  a  brute  as  I  am. 
But — it  hurts  me  the  worst.  It — it  kills  me.  Say 
you  forgive  me." 

"  Dear  child — I  forget,"  he  answered,  as  gently  as 
a  father.  And  Felicite,  on  her  way  upstairs,  heard 
him  through  the  half-open  door,  and  smiled. 


PART  THREE 


CHAPTER    ONE 

MADAME  BATHILDE  CHALUMEAU,  her 

black  cotton  frock  tucked  up  round  her  plump  figure 
over  her  scarlet-flannel  petticoat,  was  dusting  the 
windows  of  her  shop  in  the  Rue  Dessous  1'Arche. 

It  was  only  six  o'clock  and  the  air  as  yet  was  cool, 
but  the  trees  leaning  over  the  wall  of  Avocat  Millet's 
garden  opposite  were  grey  with  dust  and  parched 
with  the  heat  of  an  exceptionally  warm  September. 

Madame  Chalumeau,  who  was  standing  on  a  chair 
energetically  flopping  her  feather-brush  over  the 
panes  of  her  double  shop-front,  sighed  as  she  looked 
up  at  the  brilliant  sky.  "  It  is  to  be  a  heat  of  the 
devil,"  she  thought. 

Next  door  to  her,  chez  Bouillard,  nothing  was 
stirring.  Poor  Desire,  being  a  widower,  was  apt  to 
oversleep  himself,  and  it  was  bad  for  his  trade.  Even 
now  a  small  child  in  a  black  smock  stood  at  his 
door,  waiting  to  fill  his  carafe  with  the  black  wine 
that  had  stained  its  sides  to  such  a  beautiful  violet 
hue. 

"  Bonjour,  Christophe " 

"  Bon  jour,  madame." 

"  You  want  wine?  " 

"  Out,  madame." 


250  THE     HALO 

"  Then  wait  a  moment  and  I  will  get  it  for  thee." 

Good  Madame  Chalumeau  climbed  down  from 
her  chair  with  a  generous  display  of  fat,  black 
woollen  legs  and  unpinned  her  skirt. 

"Bon!  M.  Bouillard  sleeps  the  fat  morning,  but 
I  can  get  in,  and  you  will  get  a  beating  if  you  keep 
your  excellent  father  waiting." 

Taking  the  carafe,  she  passed  under  the  archway 
that  separated  her  house  from  her  neighbour's,  and, 
her  broad  figure  actually  touching  the  wall  on  either 
side,  went  to  Bouillard's  side-door  and  entered  the 
house. 

When  she  came  out,  the  carafe  full,  Bouillard 
himself,  fat  and  rosy  with  sleep,  was  standing  in  his 
shop  door.  "  Madame  Bathilde,  good  day  to  you ! 
So  you  have  again  saved  me  from  a  commercial 
loss !  "  Desire  Bouillard  had  a  witty  way  with  him, 
his  far  shrewder  neighbour  thought — had  thought 
for  years. 

And  then,  quite  without  consciousness  or  amuse 
ment,  they  enacted  the  little  comedy  that  had  been 
played  by  them  every  morning  since  poor  Madame 
Bouillard  died. 

"  And  your  morning  coffee,  M.  Bouillard?  " 

(t  Tiens,  mon  cafe!  Helas  non,  Madame  Ba 
thilde,  I  am  but  this  moment  awake — what  time  is 
it?" 

Just  inside  the  door  of  Madame  Chalumeau's 
shop,  Au  Gout  Parisien,  hung  a  clock. 

"  It  is  ten  minutes  to  seven." 

"  Eh,  bien,  an  revoir,  Madame  Bathilde — I  must 


THE     HALO  251*- 

go  and  set  things  going  in  my  small  household.  Alas, 
poor  Josephine !  " 

Madame  Chalumeau  shook  her  head  with  great 
gravity. 

"  A  great  loss,  M.  Bouillard;  an  irreparable  loss. 
But — my  coffee  is  nearly  ready.  Will  you  not  let  me 
give  you  a  cup?  There  are  also  an  Auvergnat "  (a 
double  twist  of  well-made  bread)  "  and  a  Bourdon 
sent  me  by  my  cousin,  Madame  Decomplet,  of  the 
Rue  d'Argentan " 

And  ten  minutes  later  the  two  gossips,  as  the  pleas 
ant  old  phrase  runs,  were  seated  in  Madame  Chalu- 
meau's  little  sitting-room  behind  her  shop,  breakfast 
ing  together. 

Monsieur  Bouillard's  Josephine  had  been  dead  for 
seven  long  years,  and  in  her  life  she  had  tormented 
the  good  man  full  sore;  even  as  the  Church  invari 
ably  defers  canonisation  until  long  after  the  death  of 
the  saint,  so  Desire's  appreciation  of  his  wife's  splen 
dour  of  character  was  a  post-mortem  tribute  to  be 
accepted  without  a  murmur  by  all  the  faithful. 

"  I  recall  to  myself  every  morning,  Madame 
Bathilde,"  he  began,  removing  a  large  blob  of  honey 
from  the  dimple  in  his  pink  chin,  "  how  that  angel 
used  to  arise  and  prepare  herself  for  her  day's  work. 
And  of  an  economy!  Charcoal  did  for  her  four 
times  what  it  will  for  me.  And  times  are  hard !  " 

Bathilde  sighed  sympathetically.  "  My  faith,  yes; 
she  was  a  wonderful  manager,  pauvre  ange.  The 
milk  is  at  your  elbow,  M.  Desire " 

Outside  in  her  tiny  garden  a  bee  boomed  somno- 


252  THE     HALO 

lently  among  the  red  and  yellow  flowers,  and  some 
where  near  at  hand  a  church  bell  jerked  its  unmusi 
cal  summons  to  prayer. 

Madame  Chalumeau's  face,  glossy  and  red-and- 
white  like  a  Norman  apple,  wore  an  expression  of 
anxious  expectation.  Moreover,  she  had  put  on  a 
narrow  lace  collar  and  pinned  it  with  a  coral  brooch. 
It  was  the  fifth  of  the  month. 

M.  Desire  ate  his  way  through  the  generously  laid 
meal  with  comfort  and  deliberation,  his  small  blue 
eyes,  deeply  embedded  in  pink  flesh,  twinkling  with 
ease. 

As  the  clock  struck  half-past  seven  he  laid  his  knife 
down  and  wiped  his  beardless  mouth. 

"  Bathilde,"  he  said,  "  you  are  very  kind  to  a  poor 
afflicted  mourner." 

"Ah— Desire !" 

She  was  a  woman  of  much  sense,  and  she  did  not 
try  to  be  coy. 

"  My  heart,  as  you  know,  lies  in  the  grave  with 
my  poor  Josephine " 

"  But  of  course,  my  dear  friend " 

"  But — man  is  not  fit  to  live  all  alone.  And  I  am 
convinced  that  if  I  could  ask  her,  that  angel 

would "  He  paused  and  looked  approvingly 

round  the  tidy,  comfortable  little  room. 

"Yes— Desire?     She  would " 

"  I  think  she  would — wish  me  to  do  the  best  I  can 
for  myself.  And  that,  of  course — I  mean  to  say  I 
imagine " 

Poor  Bathilde's  hopes  died  suddenly. 


THE     HALO  253 

"  She  was  always  so  generous-minded,"  she  mur 
mured,  folding  her  plump  hands. 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  shop  door. 

u  Anything  new  to  show  me,  chere  Madame  Chal- 
umeau?  "  he  asked  briskly. 

"Yes;  some  coloured  tablecloths,  very  pretty,  at 
one  franc  seventy-five — and — some  other  things. 
But,  Desire,  you  were  saying  about  living  alone — 
that  you  thought  Josephine  would  be  glad " 

"  I  did  not  say  she  would  be  glad,  Madame  Chalu- 
meau.  My  wife  was  never  glad  about  anything.  I 
said — in  fact,  I  may  as  well  be  quite  frank,"  he  con 
tinued,  turning  to  her,  "  I  am  a  lonely  man,  and  I 
am — greatly  attracted  to  you,  dear  friend.  But  as  I 
have  told  you  before,  I — I  cannot  quite  make  up  my 
mind  as  to  whether  I  should  be  happier  if  I  married 
you." 

u  I  could  make  you  very  comfortable,  Desire,  and 
I,  too,  am  lonely.  Besides,  your  accounts  are  very 
confused,  and  I  could  save  you  much  money  in  that 
way." 

A  shrewd  woman,  this,  but  greatly  mistaken  in  her 
methods.  A  useless,  lazy,  coquettish  woman  would 
have  married  the  man  years  before,  but  poor 
Bathilde's  very  frankness  was  her  undoing. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  returned  impatiently,  "  I  know  all 
that,  and  my  affection  for  you  is  great.  But  as  to 
marriage — I  cannot  yet  make  up  my  mind.  And  in 
the  meantime  I  must  leave  you,  dear  friend,  for  it  is 
late.  A  thousand  thanks  for  the  delicious  break 
fast "  and  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

THE  tragedy  of  M.  Bouillard's  indecision  was  very 
real  to  Madame  Chalumeau,  but  it  was  also  one  to 
which  the  good  woman  was  thoroughly  accustomed. 
For  over  three  years  M.  Bouillard  had  twice  yearly, 
on  the  fifth  of  March  and  the  fifth  of  September, 
tried  to  bring  himself  to  make  up  his  mind,  but  he 
had  always  failed,  and  after  his  attempts  things  had 
continued  as  before. 

Every  morning  he  breakfasted  with  her,  every 
Sunday  and  Feast-day  he  accompanied  her  to  Mass, 
and  occasionally  he  took  her  to  drink  a  glass  of 
Hydromel  at  the  Cafe  du  Musee.  He  was  a  pros 
perous  man  in  a  small  way,  and  considered  attractive 
by  the  widows  and  elderly  maidens  of  Falaise;  but 
no  one  dreamed  of  disputing  Madame  Chalumeau's 
sway  over  his  heart.  In  time,  Falaise  thought,  the 
two  excellent  people  would  become  one.  But  time 
is  long. 

So  Bathilde,  that  fifth  of  September,  felt  a  little 
sad  as  she  worked  in  her  neat  little  shop.  And  so  it 
is  that  Love  is  a  troublesome  little  vagabond,  who 
ought  to  have  his  wings  clipped  and  his  bow  broken. 

There  were  few  customers,  for  although  her  wools 
and  silks  were  of  excellent  quality,  and  her  baby- 
linen  most  practical,  the  Rue  Dessous  1'Arche  is, 
after  all,  not  the  Rue  d'Argentin.  A  little  girl  with 
a  bandage  round  her  face  came  and  bought  six 


THE    HALO  255 

needles,  and  a  Young  Person,  whom  Madame  Chalu- 
meau  did  not  approve,  spent  several  moments  select 
ing  a  pair  of  red  stockings.  Otherwise  the  shopkeep 
er's  solitude  remained  undisturbed  until  towards 
noon,  when  the  door  opened  and  a  short,  brown- 
faced  man,  carrying  a  long  whip,  came  in  with  a  good 
deal  of  noise,  and  waked  her  as  she  dozed  over  her 
knitting. 

" Bonjour,  Thildette!     Frightened  you,  did  I?" 

"  Oh,  Colibris,  it  is  you!  And  what  brings  you? 
You  will  breakfast  with  me?  But  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  dear  brother?  How  is  Marie?" 

"Ta,  ta,  ta,  ta !  "  laughed  M.  Colibris,  who 
looked  like  nothing  in  the  world  less  than  he  looked 
like  a  humming-bird,  "  so  many  questions,  my  excel 
lent  Thildette!  Yes,  I  will  breakfast — a  cheese 
omelet,  my  dear,  and  a  glass  of  cider — and  Marie  is 
as  well  as  one  could  expect.  Ah,  these  children,  these 
children !  It  is  a  boy,  of  course.  A  boy  with  fists  as 
big  as  his  head." 

Madame  Chalumeau  had  risen,  and  had  led  her 
guest  through  the  sitting-room  into  her  immaculate 
kitchen. 

"And  you  have  seen  papa  and  maman?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  come  from  there.  Papa  is  much  pleased 
that  it  is  a  boy.  His  eleventh  great-grandson !  One 
would  think,"  continued  the  good  man  garrulously, 
"  that  it  was  his  own  son.  Maman  is  looking  much 
better,  pas?  " 

"  Mama  is  quite  wonderful.     But  amazing!    And 


256  THE     HALO 

the  preparations  are  something  splendid.  I  suppose 
this  new  boy  will  contribute  his  share  to  the  wedding 
ring  for  maman?  " 

"  But  certainly.  It  is  lucky  there  are  no  more  of 
us  men  to  contribute,  or  we  should  have  had  to  have 
the  ring  studded  with  diamonds.  A  fine  sight  it  will 
be,  Bathilde.  Think  of  papa  and  mama  married  at 
St.  Gervais  by  the  same  cure  that  married  them  fifty 
years  ago!  And  twenty  grandchildren,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  their  seven  children,  and  counting  this  boy  of 
my  Marie's,  sixteen  great-grandchildren.  Falaise 
lias  certainly  much  to  be  proud  of." 

Madame  Chalumeau  flopped  her  omelet  again, 
slid  it  to  a  platter  and  set  a  carafe  of  cider  on  the 
table. 

"La!  Now  eat,  Colibris,  and  tell  me  more.  How 
is  Louis?  And  Henriette?" 

"  All  well,  all  well,"  returned  her  brother-in-law, 
who  was  apparently  full  of  the  quality,  the  name  of 
which  is  so  often  abused  by  English  people,  joie-de- 
vwre.  "  Henriette  has  new  upper  teeth,  and  looks 
ten  years  younger.  Louis  is  as  usual  very  silent,  but 
otherwise  is  well.  I  am  curious  to  see  Victor.  It 
was  a  misfortune,  my  being  away  when  he  was  here 
last.  He  must  have  been  greatly  disappointed.  He 
has  always  been  very  fond  of  me,  you  will  remember. 
Even  as  boys,  we  had  much  in  common." 

Madame  Chalumeau's  eyes  twinkled  as  she  nod 
ded.  Colibris'  harmless  vanity  always  amused  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  He  inquired  very  particu 
larly  for  you.  A  great  man,  Victor." 


THE     HALO  257 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  remember  once  when  we  were  boys 
a  man  came  who  felt  the  skull  and  read  the  char 
acter.  He  said  to  Victor,  '  You  have  great  talent, 
my  little  one/  and  to  me  he  said,  *  You  are  going  to 
be  a  very  great  man,  Colibris.'  But  I  did  not  care 
to  develop  my  talents.  I  was  always  very  modest 
and  domestic.  The  cure  at  home  always  says,  *  Now, 
Jacques  Colibris — there's  a  man  who  is  a  model  hus 
band  and  father.'  "  He  drank  a  deep  draught  of 
cider. 

u  They  arrive  to-morrow,"  interpolated  Madame 
Chalumeau  hastily,  with  a  hunted  expression,  u  Vic 
tor  and  Felicite  and  Theodore.  Also  Theo's  fiancee, 
an  English  girl.  I  have  a  letter  from  Victor — I  will 
read  it  to  you." 

Taking  the  letter  from  her  pocket,  and  ruthlessly 
interrupting  his  remarks  on  the  English  as  viewed 
by  himself,  she  began  to  read: 

"  MY  DEAR  SISTER — On  Tuesday  we  shall  arrive, 
I,  my  wife,  our  boy,  and  his  fiancee,  Lady  Brigit 
Mead.  She  is  a  very  beautiful  and  charming  young 
lady,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  all  admire  her.  Felicite, 
who  is  very  wise,  fears  that  she,  Lady  Brigit,  may 
not  care  for  Falaise,  for  she  is,  my  dear  sister,  the 
daughter  of  a  Count.  But  I,  who  am  even  wiser,  know 
that  she  will.  Dear  Falaise,  to  me  always  the  most 
beautiful  town  in  the  world,  who  could  help  loving 
thee?  Now,  my  good  Bathilde,  I  wish  you  to  go  to 
Berton  of  the  Chevreuil  d'Or  and  engage  rooms  for 
Lady  Brigit.  Two  rooms,  one  without  a  bed,  for  a 


258  THE     HALO 

salon.  Tell  him  they  must  be  very  nice,  and  you, 
I  know,  will  see  that  they  are  clean.  We,  of  course, 
will  lodge  in  the  Rue  Victor  Hugo  with  the  old 
people.  My  affectionate  salutations  to  you  all,  my 
dear  sister,  from  your  devoted  brother, 

"  VICTOR." 

"  He  is  a  charming  personality,  isn't  he,  Coli- 
bris?  "  asked  Madame  Chalumeau,  folding  the  letter 
and  beaming  with  satisfaction.  "  I  am  curious  to 
see  this  lady.  The  daughter  of  a  Count,  fichtre! 
And  very  beautiful.  That  must  please  Victor;  he 
has  an  eye  for  beauty." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Jacques  Colibris  absently, 
filling  his  glass  with  cider,  "  it  is  an  excellent  thing. 
I,  too,  have  it,  the  eye  for  beauty.  Only  the  other 
day,  looking  at  the  new  blue  wash  I  have  put  on  the 
walls,  old  Madame  Thibaut  was  saying " 

"  What  an  eye  for  beauty  you  have  1  "  cut  short 
Madame  Chalumeau  ruthlessly.  "  Well,  Jacques,  I 
must  now  make  myself  presentable  and  go  to  the  Rue 
d'Argentin.  Berton  will  no  doubt  be  very  proud  to 
have  a  lady  in  his  inn — although  many  English  peo 
ple  stop  there.  It  is  curious,"  she  added,  putting  her 
plate  on  his  and  carrying  them  to  a  distant  table, 
"  what  an  interest  ces  Anglais  take  in  le  Conquerant. 
As  an  enemy,  one  who  conquered  their  country,  ofie 
would  think  they  would  dislike  his  memory,  but  they 
do  not.  Very  generous  of  them,  I  always  think." 


CHAPTER    THREE 

JOYSELLE'S  party  arrived  at  Falaise  the  next 
evening,  and  leaving  Brigit  at  the  inn  in  the  Rue 
d'Argentin,  the  others  drove  on  to  old  M.  Joyselle's 
house  in  the  Rue  Victor  Hugo. 

Brigit  was  very  tired  and  glad  to  rest,  for  the  day's 
journey  had  been  long,  and  Joyselle's  interest  in  her 
interest  in  his  country  had  taken  the  form  of  a  rest 
less  desire  to  have  her  see  everything  possible  from 
both  sides  of  the  compartment.  For  hours,  there 
fore,  she  had  been  springing  from  one  window  to 
another,  admiring  everything  to  which  he  pointed, 
in  a  mad  attempt  to  satisfy  his  pride  in  ici-bas. 

Her  coming  at  all  had  been  entirely  his  idea,  and 
her  faint  refusals  he  had  laughed  to  scorn,  easily  en 
listing  Theo,  and,  with  a  trile  more  difficulty,  his 
wife,  to  his  cause. 

"  Of  course  you  will  go  with  us,"  he  had  cried, 
beaming  with  joy  and  tossing  Papillon  nearly  to  the 
ceiling  as  some  outlet  for  his  feelings,  "  and  it  will 
be  glorious ;  and  think  of  the  ecstasy  of  my  old  people 
and  the  rest!  " 

"  Remember,  Victor — they  are  simple  people,'* 
Felicite  had  ventured,  but  he  had  laughed  again. 

"  And  so  is  she !  They  are  peasants,  and  she  is  a 
great  lady.  Ca  se  comprend.  But  extremes  meet, 
and  Brigit  has  none  of  the  British  middle-class  snob- 


260  THE     HALO 

bism.  It  is  well  that  she  should  see  the  people  from 
whom  we  come.  She  shall  go  with  us." 

And  she  had  come. 

Things  had  gone  very  well  of  late,  and  as  she  lay 
on  her  narrow  bed  resting  and  waiting  for  Theo  to 
fetch  her,  she  reviewed  the  events  that  had  occurred 
since  her  great  quarrel  with  Victor,  and  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  satisfaction  at  the  state  af  affairs. 

She  and  Joyselle,  both  of  them  remembering  the 
horror  of  the  quarrel,  had  been  exceptionally  gentle 
to  each  other,  and  as  so  often  happens  when  a  situa 
tion  is  apparently  unbearable,  it  had  suddenly  become 
quite  smooth  and  pleasant.  Restraining  himself  from 
demonstrativeness,  Joyselle  had  been  able  to  keep  his 
emotions  well  in  hand,  and  the  tacit  avoidance  of 
tetes-a-tete  had  also  proved  most  helpful. 

Felicite's  innocent  interpretation  of  their  feelings 
had  gone  far,  too,  towards  quieting  those  feelings 
almost  to  her  conception  of  them.  There  were  times, 
Brigit  had  seen,  not  without  amusement,  when  Victor 
had  nearly  felt  for  her  the  paternal  solicitude  his 
wife  believed  him  to  feel,  and  even  though  she  smiled 
at  this  susceptibility  to  impression  in  him,  the  girl 
more  than  once  caught  herself  semi-unconsciously 
playing  the  role  of  youthful  hero-worshipper  cast  for 
her  by  the  older  woman. 

The  position  should  have  been  untenable,  but  it 
was  not.  As  yet  no  remorse  had  come  to  Brigit  re 
garding  Felicite,  although  she  frequently  experienced 
a  pang  of  self-loathing  on  meeting  Theo's  honest  and 
trusting  eyes.  Her  upbringing  had  been  such  that 


THE     HALO  261 

she  really  believed  herself  to  be  as  yet  quite  guiltless 
of  anything  more  than  an  almost  inevitable  deceit, 
and  even  when  she  did  regret  the  deceit,  the  thought 
that  she  was  going  to  marry  Theo  gave  her  instant 
comfort,  as  though  she  were  contemplating  some 
noble  act  of  atonement. 

"  Victor  is  very  good  now/'  she  thought,  turning 
her  flat,  hard  pillow,  "  and  I  am  much  less  nervous 
and  irritable.  Things  always  do  straighten  them 
selves  out,  I  suppose — for  those  who  know  how  to 
wait.  Mere  waiting  does  no  good,  it's  the  knowing 
how  that  counts.  And  I  think  we  are  learning  now. 
If  only  Theo  would  fall  in  love  with  someone  else. 
The  minute  he  becomes  unhappy  or  even  impatient 
Victor  will  grow  paternal,  and  that  is  horrible.  Theo 
seems  happy  enough  now " 

Her  room  was  small  and  high,  with  orange-col 
oured  stencillings  on  a  grey  ground,  and  thin,  dan 
gerously  movable  strips  of  carpet  on  the  slippery 
floor.  The  curtains  were  of  blue  flannel  and  thor 
oughly  unbeautiful. 

The  sitting-room  was  exactly  like  the  bedroom,  ex 
cept  that  its  stencilling  was  bright  green  and  that  it 
had  no  bed.  There  was  in  each  room  a  big  bunch  of 
dahlias  of  gorgeous  hues — offerings  from  Madame 
Chalumeau. 

Yellow  Dog  Papillon,  who  had  been  left  with 
Brigit  to  keep  her  company,  lay  on  one  of  the  rugs 
and  snapped  rudely  at  flies.  It  was  very  warm,  and 
the  tea  had  proved  quite  undrinkable.  Brigit  thought 
that  she  did  not  greatly  care  for  the  Chevreuil  d'Or. 


262  THE     HALO 

Then  eight  o'clock  struck  and  she  rose  and  rang  for 
hot  water.  The  "  maid,"  who  was  incidentally  a 
grandmother,  wore  a  blue  skirt  and  a  red  blouse  and 
smiled  cheerfully  and  toothlessly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  mademoiselle,  de  lyeau  chaude.  I  have 
brought  it !  Je  connais  ma  clientele,  moi."  With  a 
proud  smile  she  set  down  a  jug  about  as  large  as  a 
milk-jug  for  two  coffee-drinkers,  and  withdrew. 

Smiling  to  herself,  Brigit  dressed  and  then  went 
into  her  sitting-room,  and  opening  a  window  looked 
down  into  the  street. 

It  is  a  most  important  thoroughfare,  this  Rue 
d'Argentin;  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  de  Falaise. 

Leaning  out  the  window  and  looking  to  her  left 
Brigit  beheld  the  Place  St.  Gervais,  with  its  fountain, 
its  market-place,  now  of  course  empty,  and  its  church 
steps,  on  which  beggars  sleep  by  day.  Opposite  her 
was  a  cafe,  at  present  enlivened  by  the  dashing  pres 
ence  6f  two  foot-soldiers  and  an  old  man  playing 
dominoes  with  himself. 

Above  the  houses  the  sky  was  pale  and  clear,  and 
from  a  garden  off  to  the  right  at  the  end  of  the 
street  came  a  cooing  of  wood-pigeons. 

Two  little  boys  in  black  blouses  came  running  up 
the  street,  their  sabots  clacking  against  the  rough 
cobbles.  Someone  was  playing  a  mandolin,  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  street,  near  the  bridge,  a  girl  in  a  pink 
apron  was  flirting  with  a  youth  with  curly  red  hair. 

People  stood  by  their  shop  doors,  the  men  smok 
ing  small  clay  pipes,  the  women  usually  with  a  child 
or  two  at  their  skirts.  A  quiet  scene,  dull  and  homely, 


THE     HALO  263 

this  birthplace  of  the  Conqueror,  and  at  this  humble 
end  of  the  great  street  rather  pathetic  in  its  aspect  of 
simple  relaxation. 

Suddenly  a  little  ripple  of  excited  interest  touched 
the  groups  in  the  street.  The  two  soldiers  rose  and 
stared  hard  to  their  left;  M.  Ferret  of  the  Pharmacie 
Normale  came  out  at  a  quick  call  from  his  wife,  and 
stood,  pestle  in  hand,  as  she  struggled  with  a  mad 
dening  knot  in  the  strings  of  her  black  apron. 

Brigit,  leaning  out  still  further,  laughed  aloud. 

"  Victor,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "  Oh,  look 
at  him !  You  old  sabreur !  " 

Joyselle,  a  great  purple  flower  in  his  coat,  came 
swinging  down  the  street,  bowing  right  and  left,  his 
grey  felt  hat  in  his  gloved  hand.  He  looked  amaz 
ingly  young  and  amazingly  handsome,  and  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  fact  that,  great  man  though  he  un 
doubtedly  was,  he  was  hugely  enjoying  the  homage 
of  his  townspeople. 

When  he  reached  the  Pharmacie  Normale  he 
paused,  and  shaking  hands  politely  with  Madame 
Perret,  he  met  M.  Perret  with  open  arms,  and  the 
little  apothecary,  bounding  at  him,  was  caught  and 
kissed  on  either  cheek. 

"  Ce  cher  Anatole !  "  Brigit  heard  him  exclaim, 
"  and  how  art  thou,  old  one?  " 

Perret,  greatly  delighted,  skipped  about  in  rap 
ture,  inquiring  in  a  high  piping  voice  for  Felicite  and 
the  boy,  and  asking  many  questions  for  which  he 
waited  for  no  answer. 

Then  there  was  a  lady  from  the  shop,  A u  Bonheur 


264  THE     HALO 

des  chers  Petits,  to  be  greeted  very  cordially,  and  the 
old  domino-player,  who,  Brigit  learned,  was  a  cousin. 

There  was  something  very  charming  in  the  sim 
plicity  of  Joyselle's  pleasure  in  seeing  his  boyhood's 
friends,  and  something  almost  ludicrous  in  his  per 
fectly  obvious  joy  in  their  homage. 

Looking  down  at  him  in  his  oft-interrupted  prog 
ress,  Brigit  told  herself  that  things  must  turn  out  all 
right.  "  He  is  so  good-natured  and  generous  and 
strong,"  she  reflected,  with  glad  shifting  of  all  re 
sponsibility,  "  he  will  surely  find  some  way  out." 

When  at  last  she  heard  his  light,  regular  footfall 
coming  down  the  passage  she  rose  and  went  to  meet 
him. 

"  So  the  Conquering  Hero  has  come,"  she  teased. 
"  I  have  beeen  watching  your  advance  down  the 
street.  Such  a  strut!  " 

"  Did  I  strut?  I  daresay.  They  are  my  own 
people  and  I  love  their  affection.  Also,  as  you  say, 
it  pleases  my  vanity.  Helas,  my  dear,  I  am  very 


vain." 


She  put  on  her  hat  and  took  up  her  gloves. 

"  I  thought  Theo  was  coming  for  me,  Glorieux." 

His  face  changed.  "  No,  my  dear  love.  It  is  my 
town,  this.  Here  I  was  born,  here  I  lived  as  a  child. 
I  must  show  it  to  you." 

Taking  her  hand  he  laid  it  on  his  arm  with  a  gentle 
little  pat  and  led  her  proudly  downstairs. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

OPPOSITE  No.  6  Rue  Victor  Hugo  is  a  long  black 
wall,  and  in  the  middle  of  this  wall  an  old-fashioned 
gas  lantern  was  glowing  red  when  Joyselle  and  Brigit 
arrived. 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  mingling  with  the  red  of 
the  gas  made  that  part  of  the  narrow  street  almost 
as  light  as  if  it  had  been  high  noon. 

"  There  is  the  house,  ma  Brigitte,"  murmured 
Joyselle,  pressing  her  hand  close  to  his  side.  When 
she  had  left  the  inn  arm-in-arm  with  him,  she  had  felt 
as  though  they  must  look  perilously  like  a  German 
bride  and  groom,  but  there  was  in  his  old-fashioned 
bearing  as  he  guided  her  through  the  streets  a  kind 
of  chivalrous  courtesy  that  she  liked,  and  she  began 
to  feel  like  a  princess  being  presented  to  his  people 
by  her  lord. 

"  There  is  their  house.  I  gave  it  to  them  twenty- 
five  years  ago.  It  is  their  palace,  their  country-place, 
their  world,  to  my  old  people." 

Through  a  half-door  in  the  opposite  wall  the  girl 
could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  left  side  of  the  house. 
It  was  hung  with  trumpet  flowers. 

Beyond,  a  clearly  defined  square  of  moonlight 
showed  her  a  smooth  patch  of  lawn,  beyond  which 
the  side  of  a  creeper-clad  arbour  blocked  the  view. 

"  The  dinner  is  to  be  in  the  garden;  they  are  to 


266  THE     HALO 

sit  in  the  arbour,  and  there  will  be  many  narrow 
tables  all  over  the  lawn,  which  is  rather  large  behind 
the  house.  They  are  very  much  interested  in  it;  all 
of  us  will  be  there,  and  our  children,  and — theirs.  I 
am  old,  ma  Brigitte " 

His  voice  fell  sadly  as  this  idea  occurred  to  him, 
and  she  pressed  his  arm  and  smiled  up  at  him,  her 
face  ruddy  in  the  gaslight. 

"You  are  young,  my  man;  you  will  never  grow 
old.  And  you  will  play  at  the  dinner?  And  you 
will  play  to  me?  I  always  know  when  you  play  to 


me." 


"  Yes,  for  it  is  always.  You  are  good  to  me  now, 
bien-aimee." 

His  gentleness  was  wonderfully  appealing,  as  it 
always  was  to  her.  The  long  respite  from  nerve- 
racking  misunderstandings  had  allowed  her  to  see 
more  clearly  the  real  beauty  of  his  faulty  character, 
and  a  wave  of  compunction  came  over  her  as  she 
thought  how  little  she,  with  her  bad  qualities  of 
jealousy,  selfishness  and  cruelty,  deserved  this  beau 
tiful  love. 

For  she  fully  understood  that  only  a  deep,  real  love 
could  so  vanquish  the  lower  part  of  his  nature  as 
to  let  the  nobler  triumph  as  it  had  of  late. 

"  I  adore  you,  my  great  man,"  she  said,  very  low, 
and  their  eyes  met. 

Then  they  crossed  the  street  and  he,  leaning  over 
the  closed  half  of  the  door  in  the  wall,  opened  it  and 
they  went  in. 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  old  people  had  had 


THE    HALO  267 

their  supper.  Brigit  who  had,  thinking  of  their  great 
age,  rather  expected  to  find  them  more  or  less 
mummy-like,  sitting  in  comfortable  chairs  tended  by 
a  middle-aged  relation,  was  somewhat  amused  to 
find  them  squabbling  fiercely  over  a  game  of  dom 
inoes,  each  with  a  glass  of  cider  at  hand. 

"  Mon  pere — la  void,"  announced  Joyselle,  with  a 
kind  of  simple  pomposity  eminently  fitted  to  the 
occasion. 

Old  Joyselle  finished  his  act  of  adding  a  domino 
to  the  long  line  before  him  and  then  looked  up.  He 
was  a  rather  small,  bent  old  man,  with  quantities  of 
rough,  curly  grey  hair  and  a  petulant  expression. 

"  Ugh !"  he  said  rudely. 

"  Shake  hands  with  him,  Brigit,"  suggested  Victor 
pulling  his  moustache  to  suppress  a  smile.  Brigit 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  she  said  in  French. 

The  old  man  stared.  Then  he  smiled,  showing 
one  snow-white  tooth.  "  Tu  paries"  he  murmured. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  game. 

The  old  woman,  more  polite,  had  risen,  and  was 
waiting  her  turn.  She  was  very  tall  and  had  a  heavy 
moustache. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  beautiful,"  she  began 
courteously,  whereupon  the  old  man  interrupted,  re 
peating  her  words  but,  by  a  change  in  emphasis,  cast 
ing  derisive  doubts  on  whoever  "  they "  might  be. 
"'  They  told  me  you  were  beautiful" 

Brigit  burst  out  laughing,  and  leaning  forward 
smiled  at  the  speaker. 


268  THE     HALO 

"Well — am  I  not  beautiful?"  she  asked  with  an 
infectious  chuckle  of  sincere  amusement. 

But  old  Joyeselle  was  a  man  of  character,  appar 
ently,  and  not  to  be  beguiled. 

"  Belle?  Non,  non.  Pas  qa.  Mais — Victor,  petit, 
surely  you  can't  be  going  to  marry  a  real  lady?  " 

Joyselle  flushed,  and  she  knew  his  flush  had  to  do 
only  with  his  father's  lapse  of  memory,  not  his 
reference  to  her  ladyhood. 

"  Not  I,  mon  pere.  I  married  Felicite,  you  know, 
It  is  our  boy  who  is  going  to  marry  this — ugly  lady." 

His  father  shook  his  head.  "  Not  ugly,  mon  fits." 
he  declared  solemnly,  "  not  ugly.  Only  plain" 

This  time  Brigit  did  not  laugh.  Something  in  the 
old  man's  half-vacant  face  touched  her.  He  was 
Victor's  father;  he  had  held,  as  a  little  baby,  the 
man  she  loved;  he  had  worked  for  him  and  helped  to 
make  him  what  he  was.  Laying  her  hand  on  his,  she 
smiled  down  at  him. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  she  said  gently,  "  only 
plain.  Will  you  show  me  how  to  play  dominoes?  " 

"  He  can't,"  retorted  Madame  Joyselle,  eagerly, 
"  he  has  forgotten,  and,  besides,  he  cheats." 

Joyselle  walked  to  the  window,  his  shoulders  shak 
ing,  and  before  the  old  man  could  retort,  Theo  came 
into  the  room  carrying  a  lacquered  tin  tray  with  a 
jug  of  cider  and  some  glasses  on  it. 

"  Ah,  you  have  come  ?  Grand-pere,  grand-mere^ 
what  do  you  think  of  my  fiancee?  " 

But  Brigit  drew  him  away  and  sat  down  on  the 
ingeniously  uncomfortable  sofa  with  him. 


THE     HALO  269 

"  Fighting  again,  are  they?  Poor  old  dears,  it 
really  is  quite  dreadful.  You  see,  grandfather  used 
to  be  a  fearful  tyrant,  though  he  is  so  little,  and 
grandmother  was  deathly  afraid  of  him  until  his 
health  began  to  fail.  So  now  she  is  getting  even  with 
him.  They  adore  each  other,  however.  Isn't  the 
house  quaint?  Have  you  seen  the  garden?  " 

She  shook  her  head.    "  No,  show  it  to  me." 

Leaving  the  room  they  crossed  to  the  oilclothed 
passage  and  went  into  the  dining-room,  a  small 
apartment  enlivened  by  an  oleograph  of  Leo  XIII., 
and  some  gay  chromos. 

The  windows  opened  to  the  ground,  and  opening 
one  the  young  people  went  out  into  the  moonlight. 
Brigit  was  feeling  very  happy,  and  therefore  very 
kind.  When  Theo  put  his  arm  round  her  and  drew 
her  to  him  she  did  not  protest. 

"  Brigitte,"  he  whispered,  "  I  do  so  love  you." 

"  Dear  Theo "  Suddenly  she  remembered 

that  other  moonlight  night,  nearly  a  year  before, 
when  she  had  accepted  him.  She  recalled  the  look  of 
the  beautiful  old  house,  the  sound  of  Tommy  at  the 
pianola,  the  splashing  of  the  fountain,  the  sun-dial 
at  which,  in  his  boyish  grief,  he  had  knelt. 

And  she  had  accepted  his  love,  not  because  she 
loved  him  but  because  she  hated  her  home  and  be 
cause,  besides  being  sufficiently  rich  to  satisfy  her 
needs,  he  was  nice  and  straight  and  kind.  She  had 
taken  everything  he  had,  and  what  had  she  given 
him?  Nothing. 

In  the  moonlight  she  saw  as  if  with  new  eyes  that 


270  THE     HALO 

he  had  changed.  The  young  contours  of  his  cheek 
were  less  round,  his  eyes  had  a  deeper  expression. 
He  had  suffered,  and  he  had  not  complained. 

"  Theo,"  she  said  suddenly,  smitten  with  pity,  "  I 
• — have  been  horrid  to  you.  I — I  am  so  frightfully 
selfish.  Will  you  forgive  me?  " 

His  eyes  glistened  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Forgive  you?     You  angel  I" 

"No,  no.  I  have  been  horrid.  But — I  will  be 
nicer.  And — you  are  so  good  to  me." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said  slowly  : 

"  Brigitte — you  are  never  horrid.  But — if  you 
do  not — care  for  me  at  all — will  you  tell  me 
now?" 

She  was  abashed  and  then  shivered.  Here  was 
the  chance  she  had  longed  for.  He  would,  she 
knew,  give  her  up  without  a  word  if  she  asked  him 
to;  and  she  had  also  learned  to  know  that  whatever 
Joyselle  might  have  done  in  like  case  a  few  months 
before,  he  would  not  refuse  to  see  her  now  if  she 
told  him  that  she  and  Theo  had  agreed  to  separate. 

Here  was  freedom  to  go  her  own  way,  unrebuked 
by  her  own  conscience  or  the  conscience  of  the  man 
she  loved. 

Theo  had  turned  away  and  stood  with  folded 
arms,  awaiting  her  answer. 

And  she  let  her  chance  go  by,  for  she  could  not 
bear  to  say  the  words  that  should  hurt  him,  and  in 
the  quiet  night  under  the  shadow  of  the  old  house, 
it  seemed  to  her  that,  after  all,  her  happiness  lay  in 
this  boy's  hands.  Not  the  wild  rapture  she  had  once 


THE     HALO  271 

or  twice  felt  with  Joyselle,  but  the  kind  of  happiness 
that  builds  homes,  and — she  wanted  a  home. 

Inexplicably  tangled  with  her  feelings  for  Theor 
too,  was  that  that  anything  binding  her  to  him  bound 
her  to  his  father.  They  were  more  than  father  and 
son,  these  two,  they  belonged  together. 

"  I — do  care  for  you,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  am  not 
in  love  with  you,  but  I  will  marry  you." 

As  he  turned  and  held  out  his  arms  to  her,  Joy 
selle  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  lawn.  Brigit  did  not 
see  him,  and  going  slowly  to  her  lover  allowed  him 
to  embrace  her. 

"  Ma  Brigitte,  mon  ange — I — how  can  I  thank 
you.  Ah,  what  I  have  felt  these  last  five  months !  I 
have  thought — oh,  many  things,  of  late." 

His  voice  shook  and  was  good  to  hear  in  its 
sincere  emotion.  For  the  moment  in  her  new-born 
wish  to  be  good  to  him  she  felt  that  she  had  done 
the  wise  thing,  and  was  happy.  He  was  good,  and 
she  would  marry  him  and — life  would  go  on  for 
ever,  as  it  had  been  the  last  few  weeks. 

Joyselle,  standing  quite  still  in  the  shadow, 
watched  them  for  a  moment.  Then  he  turned  and 
went  back  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE  morning  of  the  eighth  of  September  dawned 
that  year  very  gloriously,  and  Brigit  Mead  saw  it 
dawn.  Theo  had  begged  her  the  evening  before  to 
go  with  him  to  the  castle  to  see  the  sunrise,  and 
pleased  by  the  originality  of  the  idea,  she  had 
accepted. 

So  while  the  sweet  summer  night  still  held  sway 
over  the  pleasant  Norman  land,  the  two  climbed  the 
steep  street  leading  to  the  gates  under  the  ivy-grown 
bastions. 

"  The  concierge  always  goes  with  visitors,"  the 
young  man  explained  as  they  passed  the  little  house 
and  began  mounting.  "  But  father  was  at  school 
with  him,  so  I  got  a  permit  to  go  up  alone." 

"  Is  your  father  all  right  to-day,  I  wonder?  Or 
will  he  be?  "  returned  Brigit  thoughtfully.  "  I  never 
knew  him  to  have  a  headache  before." 

"  No  more  did  I,"  answered  Theo,  running  his 
words  together  as  he  did  when  he  had  been  speaking 
much  French.  "  He  looked  very  seedy  yesterday, 
but  last  night  Tante  Bathilde  went  in  to  see  him  while 
you  and  I  were  walking,  and  she  said  he  was  better." 

They  had  reached  the  grassy  ramparts  and  turned 
to  the  right.  Night  was  now  melting  into  day,  only 
the  great  Tower  of  Talbot  (who  alas !  never  was  in 
Falaise  in  his  life)  stood  out  against  a  faintly  moon- 


THE    HALO  273 

lit  sky.  And  glancing  over  his  right  shoulder  at  the 
mantling  west,  Theo  hurried  Brigit  past  the  Breach 
of  Henri  IV.,  with  its  crown  of  lilac  trees,  up  the 
steep  causeway  to  the  Tower  itself.  "  We  must 
climb  to  see  the  sun,  dearest,"  he  said,  "  let  us  make 
haste.  I  am  glad  to  be  with  you  while  you  for  the 
first  time  see  it  come  up  over  the  edge."  He  was 
very  happy  and  looked  rather  splendid  in  his 
triumphant  youth.  Brigit  smiled  at  him. 

"  I  like  your  town,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  like 
this  view  of  it." 

Through  the  little  dungeon  they  ran  and  up  the 
narrow  crumbling  stairs,  laughing  or  crying  out  as 
they  slipped  or  lost  their  breath,  racing  with  the  sun; 
a  very  remarkable  thing  for  Brigit  Mead  to  be  doing, 
as  she  fully  appreciated.  And  then,  at  the  top,  high 
in  the  splendid  air,  the  town  in  its  greenery  looking 
like  half  a  dozen  eggs  in  a  green  nest,  asleep  below 
them. 

And  then,  for  the  race  was  theirs,  they  watched 
the  sun  creep  up  until  he  set  the  east  on  fire. 

Brigit,  her  hat  off,  her  eyes  bravely  set  to  the  east, 
stood  motionless,  and  Theo,  after  saluting  the  risen 
king,  drew  back  so  that  he  got  her  profile  against  the 
sky  and  watched  it. 

She  wore  a  short  grey  skirt  and  a  grey  silk  shirt; 
there  was  about  her  not  one  touch  of  colour  except 
for  a  beautiful  pink  the  unwonted  climbing  had 
brought  to  her  cheeks.  Theo  realised  how  great  a 
mistake  most  women  make  in  obliterating  by  bright 
tints  the  natural  colours  of  their  eyes  and  skins. 


274  THE     HALO 

*  You  are  so  wonderful,"  he  said  suddenly. 

She  started,  for  there  was  in  his  tone  something 
that  vaguely  disquieted  her.  It  was  like  his  father's 
voice,  and  like  his  father's  when  he  was  impatient 
and  superficially  stirred. 

"A  wonderful  person,  am  I  not?"  she  laughed, 
picking  up  her  hat  and  putting  it  on,  dashing  a  great 
cruel-looking  hat-pin  apparently  straight  through  her 
brain.  "  I  am  also  a  hungry  person,  Theo.  Are  we 
to  have  food?  I  suppose  no  one  will  be  awake  for 
hours!" 

It  was  indeed  too  early  to  hope  for  coffee,  so  they 
amused  themselves  by  wandering  up  and  down  the 
stairs,  throwing  burning  paper  down  the  famous 
oubliette,  and  crossing  perilously  narrow  ledges  hand- 
in-hand. 

"  So  William  was  born  in  this  horrid  little  room? 
I  don't  believe  it !  " 

"  On  le  dit.  And  down  there — see  ?  by  the  tan- 
yards,  Arlette  was  washing  clothes  when  Robert  the 
Devil  saw  her  and  fell  in  love  with  her." 

"  Remarkably  fine  eyesight  he  must  have  had  to 
see  enough  to  fall  in  love  with !  " 

"Exactly.  But  that  is  the  story.  My  mother's 
father  was  a  tanner  down  there  somewhere.  He 
was  fairly  well-to-do  for  his  position,  and  father  was 
considered  most  audacious  for  aspiring  to  her  hand!  " 

He  laughed  tenderly.  "  My  dear  old  father !  I 
am  so  proud  of  him,  dear  love,  I  can't  express  it 
at  all." 

"  I  know." 


THE     HALO  275 

"  And  I  am  proud  of  petite  mere,  too.  She  was  so 
brave  and  patient  always,  and  he  has  led  her  a  sad 
life  at  times.  They  were  desperately  poor,  for  her 
father  left  most  of  his  money  to  his  other  daughter, 
who  married  Jacques  Colibris.  You  must  see  my 
Uncle  Jacques,  he  is  quite  delightful — and  father  was 
a  gambler — and  so  on.  I  can  myself  remember  one 
morning  when  he  came  in  and  told  her  he  had  lost 
two  hundred  pounds,  and  that  was  a  fortune  then." 

u  She  told  me  about  those  times,"  answered  Brigit, 
slowly.  "  She  is  very  dear  and  good." 

They  were  now  going  slowly  down  towards  the 
town.  It  was  five  o'clock,  and  the  concierge's  chil 
dren  were  scampering  about,  uncombed,  as  they 
passed  the  cottage. 

"  We'll  go  to  the  Musee  and  knock  up  old  Malau- 
main,"  declared  Theo  suddenly.  "  He  won't  mind, 
and  she  will  give  us  a  good  dejeuner.  I  could  eat  a 
horse." 

"  And  I  a  carriage !  But  why  go  to  a  museum  for 
breakfast?" 

"  It  is  a  cafe — old  Malaumain  is  a  collector." 

"  Of  what?" 

"  Of  everything.  From  bird's  eggs  to  souvenirs  of 
Guillaume,  whom  he  adores.  The  house  is  supposed 
to  have  been  at  one  time  lived  in  by  the  Conqueror, 
and  old  Malaumain  has  made  busts  of  him,  and  pic 
tures,  and  all  kinds  of  things.  He  will  talk  to 
you  about  V Entente  cordiale  and  the  crossing  of  the 
two  races,  and  the  Friendly  Hand,  until  you  muzzle 
him.  He  is  a  dear  old  chap,  and  his  wife  is  a  very 


276  THE     HALO 

excellent  cook.  I  used  to  run  away  when  I  was  a 
little  kid  visiting  grand-mere,  and  go  and  beg  her 
for  sandcakes  with  the  Conqueror's  head  done  on  top 
in  sugar!  " 

Madame  Malaumain,  contrary  to  expectation,  ap 
peared  at  an  upper  window  at  the  first  knock,  came 
down  in  a  neat  white  peignoir,  and  after  a  quick  stare 
at  Theo  held  out  her  hand. 

"  C'est  le  petit  Joyselle"  she  said  cordially,  "  avec 
sa  future?  " 

"  Yes — but  if  you  don't  give  us  breakfast,  she  will 
die,  and  then  where  shall  I  be?  "  he  answered,  laugh 
ing.  "How  is  M.  Malaumain?" 

"  He  is  well,  thank  you,  M.  Theo.  He  has  made 
many  more  interesting  discoveries  about  the  Con 
queror.  He  is  very  superior,  M.  Malaumain,"  she 
added,  turning  to  Brigit.  "  He  was  in  service  with 
many  great  people,  so  he  is  never  shy,  as  I  am." 

Chatting  cheerfully,  she  set  a  small  iron-table  out 
side  the  door  for  them,  and  then  looking  thought 
fully  at  them  and  murmuring,  "  Coffee,  boiled  eggs, 
fresh  bread  and  honey,"  disappeared,  leaving  them 
alone  in  the  slowly  awakening  Palace  St.  Gervais. 

"  What  time  is  the  Mass?  "  asked  Brigit,  as  a  tall 
cart  clattered  up  to  the  fountain  and  a  brisk  middle- 
aged  woman  climbed  down  from  it  and  began  setting 
up  her  stand  for  the  day's  market. 

"  At  ten.  I  hope  grand-pere  will  behave  well.  I 
sometimes  think  he  is  more  mischievous  than — than 
silly,  poor  old  man.  The  cure  who  married  them 
called  yesterday  and  congratulated  him,  whereupon 


THE    HALO  277 

grand-pere  looked  up  and  remarked  that  he  didn't 
mind  being  married  again,  but  that  most  men  got  a 
new  wife  the  second  time !  Poor  old  M.  Clery  almost 
died." 

"And  what  did  grand-mere  say?"  asked  Brigit. 

"  Nothing.  Just  looked  at  him.  Petite  mere  said 
it  was  a  dreadful  scene,  but  grand-pere  was  much 
pleased  with  himself,  and  chuckled  all  day." 

"  I  rather  suspect  his — sincerity,  too,  since  I  saw 
him  trying  to  make  Papillon  eat  a  domino.  Oh, 
what's  that?" 

Up  the  street  came  a  small  procession ;  two  brown- 
faced  little  boys,  one  of  them  ringing  a  bell,  followed 
by  a  priest  in  a  well-washed  and  darned  white  gar 
ment. 

Theo  rose  and  took  off  his  hat.  "It  is  the  Viati 
cum,"  he  said  simply,  crossing  himself. 

The  town  was  waking  now;  everywhere  shop 
shutters  were  being  taken  down  and  people  in  sabots 
clattered  about,  while  a  steady  stream  of  high  carts, 
each  witH  a  big-boned  horse  between  its  shafts,  drew 
up  near  the  fountain  and  deposited  their  owners  in 
the  market-place. 

"  A  little  later  on  in  the  year  the  apples  make  a 
splendid  colour-effect,"  commented  Theo,  breaking 
off  to  add  in  surprise,  "  Why,  here  is  father!  " 

It  was  indeed  Joyselle  hurrying  towards  them,  a 
soft  hat  jammed  down  over  his  eyes,  so  that  he  did 
not  see  them  till  his  son  accosted  him. 

"Father!" 

"Theo!" 


278  THE     HALO 

"  Is  anything  wrong?"  asked  the  young  man 
rising. 

Joyselle  shook  his  head  with  a  frown.  "Wrong? 
What  should  be  wrong?  "  he  returned  harshly. 

"  But  you  look " 

"  Hungry,  probably.  Bonjour,  Brigitte.  Yes,  I 
am  hungry.  I  have  been  walking  for  hours,  and  I 
am  perished  with  hunger." 

"Will  you  join  us?  Madame  Malaumain  is  get 
ting  us  some  coffee " 

Theo  obviously  expected  a  refusal  to  this  invita 
tion,  but  Joyselle  accepted  it  without  hesitation,  and 
drawing  up  a  chair,  sat  down. 

"Where  have  you  two  been?"  he  asked. 

While  Theo  gave  him  a  description  of  their  walk, 
Brigit  watched  the  violinist. 

He  had  pushed  back  his  hat  and  from  under  it  his 
hair  hung  in  curly  disorder  over  his  brow.  He  was 
very  pale  and  his  eyes  were  circled  by  violet  rings. 
He  looked  very  ill  indeed,  but  Brigit  knew  that  it 
was  no  physical  pain  that  was  tormenting  him. 

"  Very  pleasant,"  he  murmured  to  his  son  with  a 
visible  effort,  "  delightful."  Madame  Malaumain 
arriving  with  a  tablecloth  announced  the  cheerful 
fact  that  the  water  was  boiling,  recognised  him  with 
delight,  and  told  him  in  all  innocence  that  he  as  well 
as  she  had  grown  no  younger  since  their  last  meeting. 

11  M.  Malaumain  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  she 
added;  "  it  is  not  often  that  he  meets  one  as  culti 
vated  as  himself." 

Joyselle  bowed  gravely.     "  Can  you  give  me  some 


THE    HALO  279 

coffee,  too,  Madame  Malaumain  ?  "  he  asked.  "I 
am  very — hungry." 

But  when  the  coffee  and  eggs  arrived,  he  did  not 
eat;  instead,  he  sat  moodily  playing  with  his  spoon 
and  staring  at  the  tablecloth. 

Brigit's  appetite  had  fled,  and  she  was  most  un 
easy  as  she  watched  him,  for  she  did  not  dare  risk 
an  explosion  by  putting  the  smallest  question  to  him. 

Something  was  very  wrong,  and  she  was  alarmed. 
Suddenly,  as  a  clock  struck  half-past  six,  he  rose. 
"  Au  revoir,  my  children,"  he  said,  "  I  must  get  back 
home.  Theo  will  call  for  you  at  ten  minutes  to  ten, 
Brigitte,  my — my  daughter!" 

And  he  was  gone,  leaving  Theo  staring  after  him. 

"What  can  be  the  matter?"  the  young  man 
mused.  "  He  looks  very  bad,  doesn't  he?  It  is  too 

early  for  letters  to  have  come.  He  can't "  He 

paused  and  a  quick  smile  stirred  his  moustache  and 
showed  his  white  teeth. 

"Can't  what?"  queried  Brigit,  vaguely  annoyed 
by  his  smile. 

"  He  can't  have  fallen  in  love " 

"Of  course  he  can't!" 

"  No.  But  only  because  he  hasn't  seen  anyone 
since  the  night  before  last.  He  is  amazing  about  his 
love-affairs,  dear,  in  and  out  before  you  can  get  your 
breath,  and  always  madly  sincere !  " 

u  I  know,  '  He  always  cares  for  the  time,'  "  she 
quoted  softly,  pushing  away  her  cup.  "  Let's  go, 
Theo,  I  want  to  get  a  sleep  before  we  go  to  church." 

He  was  surprised  by  the  irritation  in  her  voice, 


28o  THE     HALO 

but  rose  obediently,  and  after  disappearing  for  a 
moment  to  pay  Madame  Malaumain,  led  her  back 
to  the  inn. 

"  I  will  come  for  you  at  ten  to  ten  then — darling,'! 
he  said,  trying  to  coax  her  back  into  the  humour  of 
the  earlier  hours.  But  he  failed,  and  she  nodded 
gravely,  not  even  trying  to  conceal  her  change  of 
mood.  "  I  shall  be  ready,"  she  answered,  "  Good 
bye." 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE  church  of  St.  Gervais  was  packed  with  the 
majority  of  a  crowd  that  extended  well  out  down  the 
broad  steps  and  into  the  square,  as  the  old  bells  rang 
a  carillon  for  the  old  couple  who,  as  a  young  man  and 
a  young  woman,  had  been  married  under  them  fifty 
years  ago. 

In  the  carriage  that  was  bringing  the  bridal  pair 
to  the  church  Grand-pere  Joyselle  was  behaving  very 
badly  indeed.  Carefully  dressed  by  his  daughter, 
Madame  Chalumeau,  gloves  on  his  ancient  hands,  a 
new  top  hat  on  his  ancient  head,  his  ancient  brain 
was  busily  plotting  and  executing  all  kinds  of  small 
pranks,  and  his  unfortunate  old  bride  had  nearly 
burst  into  tears  at  a  strong  nip  he  had  given  her  arm 
with  his  still  muscular  fingers. 

"  Now,  father,  please  be  good,"  pleaded  Madame 
Chalumeau,  to  whom,  together  with  Victor,  belonged 
the  uncomfortable  honour  of  conducting  the  wayward 
groom  to  the  altar.  "  You  know  you  promised  you 
would." 

"How  can  you  call  me  father,  woman?  Me  a 
young  lad  on  his  way  to  be  married !  "  The  old 
man  laughed  shrilly,  and  producing  an  apple  from 
his  pocket  began  to  eat  it  as  best  he  could  with  his 
one  tooth. 

"  And   where  are  your  teeth?"   cried  the   over- 


282  THE     HALO 

wrought  Madame  Chalumeau.  u  You  promised  to 
wear  them.  Mother,  why  don't  you  scold  him." 

"  Because  he  likes  being  scolded,  that's  why," 
snapped  the  bride,  jerking  her  bonnet  over  one  ear. 
"  He's  been  as  bad  as  a  devil  all  the  morning." 

Joyselle,  who  had  not  been  listening,  caught  this 
phrase. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  gently,  taking  her  hand, 
"  don't  be  cross,  dear.  He  is — forgetful,  but  try  to 
remember  the  day  you  married  him.  You  loved 
him," — he  winced,  as  if  hurt  by  his  own  words, 
but  went  on  in  the  same  voice, — "  and  God  has 
been  good  in — in  allowing  you  to  spend  fifty  years 
together." 

The  old  woman  nodded.  "  I  know,  my  son.  I 
can  remember.  It — rained  and  spoiled  my  cap,  but 
I  didn't  care.  We  walked  in  a  long  procession  and 
he  wore  a  green  coat  that  the  old  M.  le  Comte  gave 
him." 

"  Yes,  mother  dear,"  put  in  the  mistaken  Madame 
Chalumeau,  "  and  you  promised  to  love  him  always 
— even  when  he  was — cross." 

Madame  Joyselle  sniffed.  "  People  promise  a  lot, 
but  fifty  years  is  more  than  any  woman  expects,"  she 
answered,  with  considerable  venom. 

Joyselle  sighed.  "  Perhaps,  my  dear  Bathilde, 
you  would  not  mind  not  interrupting  me  again? 
Yes — think  of  the  green  coat.  And  that  you  did  not 
mind  about  your  cap.  Your  life  has  been  very 
useful,  ma  mere,  and  you  have  devoted  children  to 
love  you  and  care  for  you." 


THE     HALO  283 

"  Look  at  the  crowd,"  cried  out  the  old  man  sud 
denly.  "  It  must  be  a  funeral !  " 

"  Father !  "  Madame  Chalumeau  crossed  herself 
with  fingers  that  fairly  trembled  with  haste.  "  How 
can  you?  When  it  is  your  own  wedding." 

As  the  carriage  stopped  Victor  leaned  forward  and 
laid  his  hand  on  his  father's. 

"  Father — this  is  a  splendid  and — and  most  happy 
day  for  all  of  us.  There  are  nearly  fifty  of  us — your 
descendants  and  their  wives  and  husbands,  and  we 
are  very  proud  of  you.  Will  you  give  my  mother 
your  arm  and  follow  Bathilde  and  me  up  the  steps?  " 

Old  Joyselle  skipped  with  great  agility  from  the 
carriage,  and  with  a  grand  imitation  of  his  son's  man 
ner  followed  that  son  into  the  church. 

Brigit,  standing  near  Felicite  near  the  altar,  felt 
her  eyes  fill  with  tears  as  the  little  group  appeared. 
There  was  something  infinitely  touching  in  the  sight 
of  the  ancient  couple  coming  back  to  the  altar  to  re 
new  their  vows  after  fifty  years. 

The  priest's  voice  was  very  weak,  but  it  carried 
well  under  the  arched  roof,  and  when  the  rings — the 
one  for  the  bride  bought  by  her  male,  the  one  for 
the  groom  by  his  female  descendants — were  blessed 
and  exchanged,  many  people  were  frankly  weeping. 

Joyselle  had  not  joined  his  wife  and  son,  but  stood 
opposite  them,  in  front  of  a  group  of  relations  from 
the  country,  his  fine  figure  in  its  perfect  clothes  con 
trasting  strongly  with  them. 

He  was  paler  than  Brigit  had  ever  seen  him,  and 
his  eyes,  bent  to  the  ground  for  the  most  part,  even 


284  THE     HALO 

more  deeply  circled  than  they  had  been  at  the  cafe 
a  few  hours  before. 

The  priest  droned  on;  a  baby  cried,  causing  the 
bridegroom  to  dart  a  furious  glance  in  its  direction; 
one  of  the  country  cousins  blew  his  nose  with  simple- 
hearted  zest;  the  old  couple  who  had  been  kneeling 
were  assisted  to  their  feet.  "In  nomine  Patris,  et 
Filii » 

Brigit  bowed  her  head  with  the  rest,  and  then  as 
she  raised  it,  met  Joyselle's  miserable  eyes ;  miserable, 
accusing,  despairing  eyes. 

The  ceremony  was  over.  Old  Joyselle  gave  his 
arm  once  more  to  his  wife,  and  between  two  lines  of 
buzzing  admirers  conducted  her  to  the  carriage,  fol 
lowed  by  his  famous  son,  the  rest  of  the  family 
crowding  after. 

"Pathetic,  wasn't  it?"  asked  Theo.  "I  was  so 
afraid  grand-pere  would  not  behave,  but  he  is  rather 
in  awe  of  father.  Did  you  see  my  uncles,  Antoine 
and  Guillaume?  Come,  'petite  mere,  let's  go  on. 
Our  carriage  is  waiting  at  the  inn,  to  save  time." 

Brigit  followed  obediently,  but  her  mind  was  in  a 
whirl.  What  could  be  the  matter  with  Victor? 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE  garden  in  the  Rue  Victor  Hugo  was  full  of 
long  narrow  tables  covered  with  snowy  cloths  and  as 
white  china.  In  the  pitiless  noonday  sun  the  display 
dazzled  the  eyes.  In  the  middle  of  every  table  was 
a  high  vase  of  yellow  flowers,  and  at  intervals  down 
each  stood  china  bowls  heaped  with  apples  and 
grapes. 

A  carafe  of  cider  stood  at  every  plate,  for  Nor 
mans  are  thirsty  and  their  heads  strong. 

Brigit  stood  in  an  upper  window  looking  down 
as  the  crowd  assorted  itself  and  settled  down  on  the 
benches  by  the  tables.  In  a  few  moments  Theo 
would  fetch  her  and  conduct  her  to  the  arbour  where 
twelve  people  were  to  be  seated;  at  present  he  was 
bustling  about  making  himself  agreeable  to  every 
body,  laughing  with  those  few  children  who,  being 
over  twelve,  were  present,  helping  the  old  or  un- 
wieldly  to  dispose  of  themselves  comfortably,  darting 
to  and  fro,  looking  strangely  out  of  place  among  the 
good  people  with  whom  he  felt  so  thoroughly  at 
home. 

In  the  arbour,  Brigit  knew,  were  already  assembled 
the  bridal  couple,  Victor  and  Felicite,  Antoine  and 
Guillaume,  and  the  wife  of  Guillaume,  Madame 
Chalumeau,  the  ancient  cure  and  M.  Thibaut,  the 
Mayor.  She  and  Theo  were  to  complete  the  dozen. 


286  THE     HALO 

For  some  reason  the  girl  dreaded  the  feast.  She 
had  been  unable  to  speak  to  Victor  as  yet,  and 
since  their  eyes  had  met  in  the  church  she  had  been 
unable  to  shake  off  a  haunting  feeling  of  fear  that 
had  come  to  her  at  that  moment.  Something  was 
impending. 

And  the  sultry  heat  seemed  to  make  matters 
worse.  Down  in  the  garden  the  guests  were  now  all 
seated,  and  scraps  of  their  conversation  reached  her 
as  she  leaned  in  the  window. 

"A  magnificent  dinner,  I  am  told,"  M.  Ferret, 
the  apothecary,  was  saying  in  his  high  voice  like  that 
of  a  grass-hopper  chirping  in  the  heat.  u  Thildette 
Chalumeau  told  me:  Pot  au  feu,  veal  cooked  in  a 
casserole  in  its  own  juice,  rabbits  stewed  in  wine,  gigot 
roti,  patisserie — and  many  other  things.  Yvonne 
Gaude  is  cooking  it,  but  Thildette  prepared  most  of 
the  things  with  her  own  hands " 

" — And  what  is  a  poor  man  to  think  when  a  cow 
dies  like  that,  from  no  reason  whatever,"  murmured 
one  of  the  humblest  of  the  country  cousins.  "  M.  le 
cure  can  say  what  he  likes  about  there  being  no 
witches!  " 

"  Have  you  seen  the  future  of  le  petit  de  Victor? 
They  call  her  beautiful,  I  am  told,  in  England, 
but •" 

"  Victor  is  growing  old,  Maitre  Leboeuf.  He 
looked  quite  old  in  church " 

"  No,  ma  chere,  positively  only  eighteen  fifty,  and 
as  good  as  new!  I  always  liked  plush,  too " 

Brigit    listened    absently.      What    could    be    the 


THE     HALO  287 

matter  with  Victor?  And  why  had  he  not  come  to 
her  for  only  one  minute  before  the  long  ordeal  of  the 
dinner  began? 

Then  the  door  opened  and  Theo,  beaming  with  a 
sense  of  duty  artistically  fulfilled,  came  in.  "  They 
are  all  as  happy  as  possible,"  he  laughed;  "  the  pot  au 
feu  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  they  are  beginning  on 
the  veal.  Come,  my  Brigit,  you  must  be  hungry." 

Without  answering,  she  accompanied  him  down 
stairs,  and  they  threaded  their  way  to  the  arbour. 

'You  are  to  sit  here,  Brigit,  between  grandfather 
and  me,"  explained  Theo,  stopping  opposite  his 
father,  who  was  listening  to  something  Madame 
Guillaume  was  telling  him. 

Grandfather  Joyselle,  whose  impish  spirit  had 
subsided,  was  busy  with  some  minced  veal,  and  shot 
a  rather  grudging  look  at  his  new  neighbour. 
"  Don't  touch  my  glass,  will  you?  "  he  said,  "  It's  got 
flies  in  it,  and  I  love  to  see  'em  drown." 

Theo  laughed.     "  Some  wine,  grand-mere?  " 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head.  "  No,  thank 
you,"  she  answered  civilly.  "  I  will  teach  you  domi 
noes,  mademoiselle." 

Brigit  thanked  her  and  began  her  dinner. 

"  Listen  to  Jacques  tell  about  how  he  converted  a 
retrograde  priest  back  to  holiness  by  his  great  elo 
quence,"  laughed  Antoine  Joyselle,  who  was  an 
old  and  soured  edition  of  his  famous  brother. 
"Gascon!" 

Madame  Chalumeau,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on 
M.  Bouillard  as  he  sat  far  down  one  of  the  tables, 


288  THE     HALO 

dropped  her  knife  to  the  ground,  and  disappearing 
under  the  table  in  search  of  it,  gave  her  head  a 
terrible  thump,  and  emerged  scarlet  and  agonised. 

"Someone  ought  to  propose  a  toast!"  suggested 
Theo,  "  I  suppose  M.  Thibaut,  father?  " 

Victor  nodded  absently.    "  Yes,  or  M.  le  cure." 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-day — Master?  "  asked  Bri- 
git,  suddenly,  forcing  him  to  look  at  her. 

His  eyes  as  her  gaze  met  his  were  so  profoundly 
tragic  that  she  shuddered,  and  he  did  not  answer. 

"  I  think  I  might  eat  more  if  I  had  my  teeth," 
observed  the  bridegroom,  "  and  I  hear  there  is  to  be 
rabbit." 

"  Hush,  father!  you  know  you  can't  eat  with  your 
teeth.  You  are  to  have  minced  rabbit,  with  plenty  of 
gravy."  Madame  Chalumeau,  whose  bright  blue 
dress  was  very  tight  and  warm,  wiped  her  face  on 
her  handkerchief. 

Brigit  looked  round  in  despair.  It  was  horrible; 
the  heat,  the  smell  of  food,  the  clatter  of  knives  and 
forks. 

For  a  long  time  she  heard  nothing,  and  then  found 
that  M.  Thibaut  the  Mayor  was  trying  to  persuade 
Victor  to  play.  "  It  would  be  very  pleasant,"  urged 
the  good  man,  with  evident  pride  in  his  own  tact, 
"  and  the  young  people  might  dance." 

Joyselle  burst  out  laughing.  "  Yes,  I  will  play — 
for  the  young  people  to  dance.  That  is  what  fiddlers 
are  for,"  he  answered. 

M.  Thibaut  bowed.  "  It  will  be  very  pleasant," 
he  repeated. 


THE     HALO  289 

Felicite  rose  quietly  and  went  to  the  kitchen  for  a 
moment,  coming  back  with  a  plate  of  minced  rabbit 
for  her  father-in-law.  "  Foila,  papa,"  she  said 
gently,  and  the  old  man  stopped  poking  at  the  flies 
in  his  cider  with  his  fork  and  began  to  eat. 

Suddenly,  in  his  evident  agony,  Joyselle  again 
looked  at  Brigit,  and  all  her  misery  of  suspense  and 
curiosity  flew  to  her  eyes.'  "  What  is  it?  "  they  asked 
him.  "  Why  are  you  tortured,  and  why  are  you  tor 
turing  me  who  love  you?" 

He  looked  long  at  her,  and  then  seeing  her  sym 
pathetic  suffering  and  her  passion  of  wounded  love, 
his  face  cleared,  and  for  the  first  time  that  day  he 
looked  like  himself. 

He  began  talking,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  mak 
ing  everyone  at  the  table  roar  with  laughter. 

Brigit,  though  deeply  relieved,  was  more  puzzled 
than  ever?  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  after  dinner,"  she 
said,  leaning  towards  him,  and  he  bowed.  "  I,  too, 
have  things  to  say  to  you,  my  dear,"  he  answered, 
and  they  were  both  wildly  happy. 

Then  the  Mayor  rose,  and  in  short  and  stereo 
typed  phrase  drank  to  the  health  of  the  bride  and 
groom. 

The  bridegroom  had  fallen  asleep  and  was  not 
wakened,  but  the  bride  bowed  with  some  dignity. 

"  M.  le  cure — will  you  say  a  few  words?  "  asked 
Victor  courteously. 

The  old  priest  rose  in  obedience  to  the  summons, 
and  murmured  a  kind  of  blessing  on  the  two  he  had 
joined  together  in  his  own  youth.  He  remembered 


290  THE     HALO 

them  both  very  well  as  they  had  been  in  that  day;  far 
better  than  he  could  in  the  days  of  their  middle  age. 
Now  their  three  lives  were  nearly  over:  "  We  are 
all  very  old,"  he  faltered,  fumbling  at  his  snuff-box, 
"  very  old " 

Someone  outside  thought  he  had  finished  and 
began  to  clap.  He  sat  down  abashed,  and  took  snuff 
to  hide  his  confusion.  Yes,  they  were  all  very  old. 

The  meal  ended  at  length  with  coffee,  calvados,  a 
local  liqueur,  and  cheese. 

*  You  are  tired,  my  daughter?  "  asked  Felicite,  as 
Brigit  frowned  with  impatience. 

"  Yes,  petite  mere." 

Felicite,  who  for  the  last  half  hour  had  been  fan 
ning  the  sleeping  bridegroom  to  keep  off  the  flies, 
sighed. 

"  It  is  very  warm.  Why  not  go?  They  will  clear 
the  table  and  dance  on  the  grass,  I  think." 

Everyone  left  the  arbour  except  her  and  the  old 
man,  and  Brigit,  feeling  that  Joyselle  was  close  on 
her  heels,  went  into  the  house  and  into  the  sitting- 
room. 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

JOYSELLE  closed  the  door,  and,  to  her  surprise, 
turned  the  key.  Then  he  faced  her. 

"  Brigit,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat,  "  do  you 
love  me?  " 

"Love  you?"  she  faltered.  "What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  for  thirty-six  hours  I  have  doubted 

you,  and  that  I  have  been "  He  broke  off  short, 

his  vivid  face  intensely  expressive. 

"  But  why?  Thirty-six  hours?  That  means  that 
— but  I  did  not  even  see  you  yesterday!  " 

He  stood,  his  arms  hanging  by  his  sides,  looking 
at  her  without  a  word.  Then,  when  the  pause  had 
grown  unbearable,  he  returned  slowly:  "The  night 
before  last  I  saw  you  with  Theo — on  the  lawn." 

A  painful  blush  burnt  her  face,  and,  unwontedly 
abashed,  she  turned  away.  It  seemed  to  her  almost 
monstrous  that  Joyselle  should  have  witnessed  the 
little  scene  in  the  moonlight. 

''  You — you  saw  him  kiss  me?  "  she  faltered. 

"  Yes.  But  that  was  not  the  worst.  He  held  open 
his  arms  to  you,  and — you  went  to  him  as  if — as  if 
you  were  giving  yourself  to  him." 

"  I  was,  Victor.  Surely  you  understand.  He  is  so 
good,  Theo — so  very  good.  And  I  have  promised 
to  marry  him,  and  he  has  been  patient,  and  I  have 


292  THE     HALO 

treated  him  horribly.  The  longer  I  know  him  the 
better — I  like  him.  Surely  you  can't  mind  that?  " 

Joyselle  did  not  raise  his  hand.  He  was,  she  saw 
with  a  curious  sensation  of  detachment,  undergoing 
a  severe  struggle. 

"Mind?  I — the  situation  is — horrible,"  he  be 
gan,  after  a  pause.  "  God  knows  I  love  my  son,  and 
I  should  hate  you  if  you  hurt  him " 

"  I  know  that,"  she  interrupted  quickly,  and  he 
looked  up. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  why " 

"  Why  ?  No.  Ah,  Victor,  you  know  that  I  love 
you.  You  must  know  that.  And  yet  I  have  prom 
ised  to  marry  him.  What  are  we  to  do?  " 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  sounds  of 
laughter  and  loud  talk,  and  someone  was  playing 
snatches  of  a  waltz  on  a  violin. 

Brigit,  feeling  that  things  outside  her  own  control 
had  hastened  an  inevitable  crisis,  stood  waiting  with 
the  immobility  of  one  consciously  in  the  hands  of 
Fate. 

At  last  Joyselle  came  to  her  and  took  her  in  his 
arms.  "  Tell  me  that  you  love  me,"  he  whispered, 
"  and  then — I  can  bear  anything." 

His  unexpected  resignation  came,  as  so  often  is 
the  case,  rather  as  a  shock  to  her.  It  was  true  that 
she  had  of  late,  during  the  reign  of  peace  that  had 
followed  the  last  quarrel,  been  unusually  happy,  and 
that  the  thought  of  marrying  Theo  had  become  more 
bearable  than  she  would  have  believed  possible;  the 
future  had  taken  on  an  aspect  of  happy  family  life 


THE     HALO  293 

with  Joyselle  and  Felicite,  in  which  Theo's  part  had 
been  pleasantly  subordinate;  more  or  less,  although 
her  mind  had  not  formulated  it,  that  of  a  brother. 

Yet  now  Joyselle's  resigned  attitude  did  not  please 
her. 

"  Then — you  don't  mind  my  marrying — another 
man?  "  she  retorted  quickly,  instinctively  using  words 
that  would  hurt  him. 

He  wiped  his  forehead,  which  was  covered  with 
small  drops  of  perspiration. 

"  Don't  mind !  But,  ma  cherie,  you  must  not  tor 
ture  me.  The  situation  as  it  now  is,  is  absolutely 
impossible.  You  don't  understand.  I  love  my  son, 
God  knows !  Yet  I  am  not  made  of  stone,  and  before 
the  love  paternal  He  created  the  love  of  man  for 
woman.  I  believe,  as  He  hears  me,  that  you  were 
meant  for  me;  that  you  are  my  woman,  and  I  your 
man;  that  you  were  meant  for  me  and  I  for  you. 
But — I  was  born  too  soon  or  you  too  late.  I  can 
not,  must  not,  have  you,  without  outraging  certain 
laws  which  must  be  respected.  The  only  thing,  then, 
is  to  bow  to  these  laws.  I  belong  to  a  generation 
older  than  yours,  and  before  I  knew  that  you  existed 
my  boy  had  chosen — and  won — you.  So  you  must 
be  his.  We  have  dreamed,  my  Brigit,  through  the 
last  few  months,  and  now  we  must  awaken.  You 
must  marry  Theo,  and  he  will  take  you  away  for  a 
few  months,  and  when  you  come  back  as  his — wife, 
I  shall — I  will  have  learned  to  love  you  in  the  only 
way  I  can  love  you  without  shame — as  my  daughter." 

It  is  curious,  but  strictly  according  to  the  laws  of 


294  THE     HALO 

the  feminine  logic,  that  as  he  made  this  speech,  halt 
ingly,  painfully,  but  with  resolution  in  every  word 
of  it,  Brigit's  mind  should  slowly  change  to  a  feeling 
of  resentment. 

She  herself  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  Theo, 
and  she  had  seen  plainly  that  this  was  fitting  and 
wise;  yet  Joyselle's  acceptance  of  these  facts  stirred 
her  to  rebellion,  and  once  more  she  protested  against 
his  voicing  of  her  own  determination.  "  You  are 
quite  right,"  she  said  coldly;  "  it  is  only  a  pity  that 
we  did  not  see  all  this  before !  " 

And  in  his  turn  he  winced. 

"  We  have  been  very  mad,"  she  continued,  her  old 
barbaric  love  of  seeing  him  suffer  returning.  Then 
in  her  own  pain:  "But  from  this  moment  on  I 
shall  do  my  part,  as  you  suggest.  No  doubt  in  a 
month's  time  we  shall  both  be  laughing  at  our  little 
tragic  comedy." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  his  brown  face  slowly 
changed  colour  and  he  closed  his  eyes  for  a  second. 

"  No  doubt.  As  for  me — there  is  no  fool  like  an 
old  fool,  they  say.  However,  we  have  come  to  our 
senses  in  time — thank  God !  "  The  last  two  words 
came  with  a  sharp,  spasmodic  sound,  and  when  he  had 
said  them  he  took  from  his  pocket  the  silver  box, 
with  Marie-Rose  engraved  on  it,  and  taking  from  it 
paper  and  tobacco,  began  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

Brigit  was  dumfounded  as  well  as  deeply  hurt. 
His  strength  filled  her  with  terror.  That  he  could 
bow  to  Fate,  she  had  not  expected,  and  forgetting, 
as  women  do,  that  men's  training  from  early  boy- 


THE    HALO  295 

hood  teaches  them,  as  nothing  ever  teaches  women, 
the  trick  of  momentary  self-control,  a  wild  doubt  of 
his  love  flashed  through  her  and  took  her  breath 
away. 

"  You  are  angry,"  she  ventured,  hoping,  though 
subconsciously  and  without  cruelty,  to  break  down 
his  resolution.  But  he  smiled  sadly,  for  he  was  sin 
cere. 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  am  not  angry.  I  am  sad,  because 
I  love  you — as  yet — far  more  than  I  should,  but — 
from  this  moment  on  I  shall  bend  all  my  strength  to 
the  conquering  of  that  love.  You  must  help  me. 
You  will  know  how,  for  women  always  know.  Now 
— will  you  shake  hands  with  me  and  bid  God  bless 
me?  It  is  to  be  a  hard  struggle  for  me,  but  I  will 

win,  for  my  will  is  strong,  and  the  cause  is  good 

Is  that  you,  Theo?  " 

"  Yes,  father."  Theo  was  trying  the  door.  "  Any 
thing  wrong?"  he  added. 

Joyselle  turned  the  key.  "  No,"  he  said  quietly 
as  his  son  entered,  "  but  we  were  tired  of  the  good 
company.  I  will  go  now,  my  dear.  Stay  and  talk 
to  your  fiancee" 


CHAPTER  NINE 

AN  hour  later  Brigit  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  at 
the  inn.  She  was  desperately  tired,  and  as  unhappy 
as  she  was  tired.  Joyselle's  attitude,  although  she 
was  bound  in  common  justice  to  acknowledge  its  cor 
rectness,  hurt  her  to  an  almost  incredible  degree. 
Nothing  had  ever  so  wounded  her,  and  she  felt  the 
longing  common  to  reserved  people  to  hide  her  pain 
from  everybody. 

So  she  had  escaped  from  the  Rue  Victor  Hugo 
under  pretext  of  a  headache,  and,  bidding  Felicite 
and  Theo  good-night,  hastened  back  here,  not  al 
lowing  the  young  man  to  accompany  her,  as  he 
desired. 

"  I  am  very  seedy/'  she  told  him,  "  and  my  head 
aches;  I  shall  be  better  alone." 

So  Theo,  with  the  biddableness  that  was  an  inte 
gral  and  to  her  rather  annoying  quality  of  his  char 
acter,  had  said  no  more,  and  returned  to  the  other 
guests.  The  gaily  attired  chambermaid,  bearing  a 
small  jug  destined  to  strike  dismay  to  some  British 
admirers  of  the  Conqueror,  met  the  girl  on  the  stairs. 

"Bon  soir,  mademoiselle,"  she  said;  "there's  a 
telegram  for  you  in  your  salon." 

Brigit  stood  still.  A  telegram!  Bad  news  prob 
ably.  And  such  was  her  mental  turmoil  that  at  the 
thought  she  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Almost  any- 


THE     HALO  297 

thing  that  would  change  the  nature  of  her  trouble 
would  be  welcome. 

But  the  contents  of  the  telegram  were  bad. 

'*  Tommy  very  ill.     Diphtheria.     Wants  you. 

"  MOTHER." 

Tommy  ill !  Poor  little  boy,  with  all  his  joy  of 
life  and  enthusiasms,  struck  down  by  diphtheria ! 
Why  could  it  not  be  she  instead? 

But  it  was  not  the  girl's  nature  to  waste  time  in 
useless  reflections  when  any  possible  course  of  action 
lay  before  her. 

Ringing,  she  sent  for  M.  Berton,  the  proprietor, 
and  finding  that  a  train  left  in  half  an  hour,  threw 
her  belongings  into  her  box  and  a  few  minutes  later 
was  in  a  ramshackle  cab  clattering  stationwards.  She 
left  a  note  for  Theo,  but  she  was  sincerely  glad  that 
time  was  too  short  for  her  to  make  any  attempt  to 
see  either  him  or  Joyselle.  They  had  faded  into  the 
background  of  her  mind,  and  in  the  foreground 
stood,  piteous  and  appealing,  poor  little  Tommy. 

It  was  a  gruesome  journey,  never  to  be  forgotten, 
and  made  more  bearable  by  several  little  acts  of  kind 
ness  on  the  part  of  her  fellow-travellers,  as  such  jour 
neys  are  apt  to  be. 

Brigit  never  again  saw  the  fat  Jewish  commercial 
traveller  who  rushed  from  the  train  at  some  station, 
and  nearly  missed  the  train  in  his  efforts,  successful  at 
last,  to  get  her  some  tea ;  but  she  never  forgot  him. 
Neither  did  she  ever  forget  a  woman  in  shabby 


298  THE     HALO 

mourning  who  insisted  on  giving  her  a  packet  of 
somebody's  incomparable  milk  chocolate. 

And  for  hours  and  hours  and  hours  the  trains  ( for 
she  had  to  change  twice)  rushed  on  through  the  slow- 
dying  autumn  evening  and  night,  and  part  of  the 
next  day.  Then  at  last  London — a  rush  in  a  han 
som  to  Victoria  from  Charing  Cross,  and  the  fa 
miliar  little  journey  homewards.  It  was  about  three 
o'clock  when  she  reached  Kingsmead,  and  raining 
hard. 

"  'Is  lordship  is — still  alive,  my  lady,"  Jarvis  told 
her,  choking  a  little,  "  but — pretty  bad,  my  lady." 
Tommy  had  always  laughed  at  Jarvis'  manner,  but 
Brigit  liked  it  now. 

The  drive  seemed  endless,  but  at  length  there  was 
the  lodge,  and  the  carp-pond,  and  the  tennis-court, 
and — the  beautiful  old  house,  all  blurred  in  the  driv 
ing  rain. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  upstairs,  my  lady."  And  Brigit 
ran  up  the  shallow,  red-carpeted  steps.  But  who  was 
this  old  woman  wrapped  in  a  white  shawl. 

«  Brigit " 

It  was  Lady  Kingsmead,  and  Brigit,  looking  at 
her  mother,  almost  fainted  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life. 

"How  is  he?"  she  gasped,  leaning  against  the 
wall  and  wondering  why  it  was  so  unsteady. 

"  He — his  throat  is  better,  but — he  is  very  weak 
and — delirious.  His  brain,  they  say,  is — over- 
active."  Poor  Lady  Kingsmead  burst  into  tears, 
wiping  her  eyes  on  the  fringe  of  her  shawl. 


THE     HALO  299 

Brigit  patted  the  strangely  shrunken  head  compas 
sionately.  "  Don't  cry,  mother,"  she  said.  "  Is  he 
in  his  room?  " 

"  No — in  the  boudoir.  His  chimney  smokes  so 
in  the  autumn,  you  know." 

Tommy  lay  in  his  own  brass  bed  in  the  silken  nest 
of  his  mother,  a  white-capped  nurse  by  his  side.  The 
little  boy's  face  was  flushed  and  his  head  tossing 
restlessly  to  and  fro  on  the  embroidered  pillows. 
"  There's  no  use,"  he  was  muttering.  "  I  tell  you, 
it's  quite  silly  to  waste  time;  you  should  have  begun 
long  ago.  He  always  said  so,  and  he's  right." 

Brigit  sat  down  by  him.  "  Here's  Bicky,"  she 
said,  "  with  the  Master's  love  for  you,  Tommy." 

"  He's  gone  away.  Ratting  with  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  Let's  play  his  fiddle  before  he  comes  back. 
I've  got  that  last  exercise  beautifully — only  my  little 
finger  is  so  beastly  short.  If  I'd  been  whipped  when 
I  was  a  kid  it  might  have  grown — there  it  goes !  Hi, 
Pincher,  after  him !  " 

The  nurse  rose  and  moistened  her  patient's  lips 
with  water. 

"How  is  he,  nurse?"  asked  Brigit  shortly. 

"  His  throat's  better,  miss — my  lady.  But  he's 
very  weak.  These  active-minded  little  boys " 

"I  know;  I  know,"  interrupted  the  girl  hastily. 
"When  will  he  know  me?" 

The  nurse  hesitated.  How  could  she  tell?  The 
relations  always  did  ask  senseless  questions.  The 
Persian  kitten,  now  grown  to  be  a  cat  less  Persian 
than  had  been  expected,  came  into  the  room,  and  the 


300  THE     HALO 

nurse  took  it  up  and  put  it  out.  "  He  always  comes; 
he's  a  perfect  nuisance,"  she  observed.  '*  They  get 
so  used  to  places,  cats,  don't  they?  " 

Brigit  nodded.  "  I'll  go  and  change,"  she  said. 
"  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Better  take  something  to  eat,  my  lady.  The 
danger  of  infection  is  great,  you  know,  and  the 
tireder  one  is " 

"  I  know." 

When  she  came  back,  Brigit  found  her  mother 
installed  in  the  room  while  nurse  had  her  tea.  Lady 
Kingsmead  was  a  good  nurse,  greatly  to  her  daugh 
ter's  surprise,  and  all  her  affectations  seemed  to  have 
been  left  in  her  dressing-room  with  her  false  hair. 

The  three  women  took  turns  sitting  up  with  the 
invalid,  but  he  recognised  none  of  them.  It  was  a 
very  long  night,  and  only  the  greatest  determination 
kept  Brigit  awake  during  her  watches,  for  she  was 
extremely  tired  after  her  journey. 

But  at  last  day  came,  and  with  it  a  short  return 
of  consciousness.  "Where's  Bicky?" 

"  Here  I  am,  Tommy  darling,"  she  answered, 
taking  his  hand.  "Are  you  better,  love?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.     Where's  my  violin  ?  " 

She  fetched  it,  and  he  went  to  sleep,  his  wasted 
hand  lying  across  the  strings. 

When  he  next  spoke  it  was  to  talk  utter  nonsense 
about  a  flying-machine,  an  account  of  which  he  had 
read  in  a  newspaper. 


CHAPTER    TEN 

POOR  little  Tommy's  passion  for  knowing  things 
showed  up  very  clearly  the  next  few  days,  his  over- 
active  brain  working  hard  propounding  to  itself 
question  on  subjects  that  Brigit  had  never  heard  him 
even  mention.  And  one  of  the  most  pathetic  sub 
jects  was  that  of  her  relations  with  her  mother.  "  If 
Brigit  would  only  come  back  and  live  here  again," 
he  said  over  and  over  again,  "  like  other  fellows' 
sisters.  Things  are  so  much  pleasanter  when  she  is 
here." 

"  I'm  here,  Tommy  darling,"  she  told  him  a  hun 
dred  times,  but  he  only  shook  his  head  and  frowned 
gently.  (  You  are  very  nice,  and  I  like  your  hands, 
because  they  are  cool  and  dry,  but  you  are  not  Bicky. 
Bicky  is  beautiful." 

His  mother,  on  the  contrary,  the  child  always  rec 
ognised,  and  his  manner  to  her  was  almost  protect 
ing. 

"  Don't  cry,  mother,"  he  would  say.  "  I'm  not  so 
bad,  really  I'm  not.  You  had  better  go  and  lie 
down,  or  you  will  not  look  pretty  to-night." 

His  idea  of  evenings  was,  of  course,  of  a  time 
when  mothers  must  look  their  best  at  any  cost,  and 
when  no  mother  ever  stayed  upstairs. 

Every  evening,  therefore,  he  could  not  rest  until 
Lady  Kingsmead  had  gone  "  to  dress." 


302  THE     HALO 

Brigit  had  never  known  how  much  the  little  fellow 
noticed  the  details  of  dress,  and  so  on,  but  now  she 
learned,  for  his  remarks  about  his  mother  usually 
took  the  form  of  appreciation  or  dislike  of  some  par 
ticular  toilette. 

"  Wear  pink,  mother — it  suits  you  best — and 
pearls.  The  diamonds  make  you  look  older." 

Poor  Lady  Kingsmead,  more  lovable  in  her  dis 
tress  than  her  daughter  had  ever  seen  her,  obeyed 
him  humbly,  and  promising  to  wear  pink,  or  what 
ever  the  colour  might  be,  crept  away  to  her  bedroom 
and  cried  until  she  was  scarcely  recognisable. 

Two  days  passed  thus,  the  doctor  coming  many 
times  and  shaking  his  head  doubtfully  over  questions 
about  his  patient.  "  The  throat  is  much  better — 
the  danger  from  that  is  quite  past;  but — the  fever 
does  not  go  down,  and  I  can't  quite  tell  what  the 
complication  is.  He  is  too  young  to  have  had  a 
mental  shock,  so  I  can  only  assume  that  the  too  great 
activity  of  his  mind  is  now  against  us.  I  understand 
that  he  has  been  studying  very  hard?" 

This  Brigit  denied,  but  the  doctor,  on  insisting, 
was  told  to  interview  Mr.  Babington,  and  to  the 
girPs  amazement  she  learned  that  only  a  day  or  two 
before  he  was  taken  ill  Tommy  had  betrayed  the 
fact  that  for  weeks  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spend 
ing  part  of  each  night  in  the  disused  chapel,  practis 
ing  on  his  violin. 

"  He  is  quite  mad  about  his  music,"  the  young 
man  mourned.  "  I  never  could  get  him  to  take  the 
least  interest  in  anything  else,  and  as  he  always 


THE    HALO  303 

worked  as  little  as  possible  for  me,  I  could  not  under 
stand  his  looking  so  tired,  until,  finding  that  he  had 
heard  the  stable  clock  strike  four,  and  knowing  that 
one  cannot  hear  the  clock  from  his  room,  I  pinned 
him  down  and  he  told  me." 

Brigit's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

The  chapel,  disused  for  many  years,  had  evolved 
into  a  sort  of  lumber-room,  and  she  could  see,  in  her 
imagination,  the  pathetic  picture  of  her  little  brother 
fiddling  away  among  the  piled-up  boxes  and  old  fur 
niture,  trying  to  hasten  the  moment  when  his  beloved 
master  would  find  him  worthy  of  personal  instruc 
tion. 

It  was  all  clear  to  his  sister.  Left  alone,  the  child's 
whole  strength — far  more  strength  than  he  should 
have  been  allowed  to  expend — had  gone  to  his  pas 
sion  for  his  violin,  and  now,  unless  a  change  for  the 
better  should  come  very  soon,  he  must  die,  burnt  with 
fever.  And  the  fault  would  be  hers.  For  the  first 
time  she  felt  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  duty." 
Tommy  had  been  her  duty,  and  she  had  neglected 
him. 

At  length  one  day  she  made  a  further  discovery. 

She  was  sitting  by  the  bed,  and  for  over  an  hour 
the  child  had  lain  still,  his  eyes  half  shut.  It  was 
five  o'clock  and  a  dark  afternoon,  so  that  the  room 
was  full  of  shadows. 

Suddenly  Tommy  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Brigit,"  he  asked,  recognising  her  for  the  first 
time,  "  are  you  in  love  with  Joyselle?  " 

For  a  full  minute  she  could  not  answer,  and  then 


304  THE     HALO 

said    very    gently,    "  Darling    Tommy — you    know 
me?" 

'  Yes,  yes,  of  course  I  know  you.     But — are  you? 
Carron  and  mother  think  so." 

"  Do  they,  Tommy?  Well — I  love  him  dearly — 
and  so  do  you,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  that'9  he  returned,  with  a  gesture 
of  impatience;  "  I  mean  the  way  people  are  who  are 
going  to  marry  each  other." 

His  eyes,  so  huge  in  his  wasted  face,  looked 
eagerly  at  her. 

"  Carron  and  mother  think  you  do,"  he  repeated, 
"  and  it  makes  me  sorry." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  long  time,  and  then  she 
said  humbly,  not  knowing  how  far  he  understood 
that  whereof  he  spoke,  and  therefore  obliged  to  feel 
her  way,  "  Tommy  dear — you  forget  petite  mere." 

"  No,  I  don't— but  she  is  old." 

11  She  is  younger  than  he." 

But  ill  though  he  was,  Tommy's  sense  of  humour 
was  still  alive.  "  That  doesn't  matter!  Oh,  Bick, 
darling,  I  am  so  tired!  And  I  do  hope  you  aren't — 
I  mean,  that." 

So,  of  course,  she  lied,  and  the  little  boy  went  to 
sleep,  his  hand  in  hers. 

When,  an  hour  later,  she  went  to  her  room,  she 
found  a  wire  from  Theo,  announcing  their  arrival 
in  London,  and  in  spite  of  herself  her  spirits 
rose.  Things  must  be  better  now  that  he  was  near 
her. 

But  things  were  not  better,  and  the  doctor,  the 


THE    HALO  305 

next  morning,  looked  very  grave.  u  I  think  it  bad 
to  allow  him  to  have  his  violin,"  he  said;  "  it  excites 
him  and  increases  the  fever.  And — I  think  I  should 
like  a  consultation." 

Lady  Kingsmead  burst  into  tears  and  hurried  from 
the  room,  but  Brigit  wrote  a  telegram,  as  dictated  by 
the  old  doctor  who  had  brought  the  boy  into  the 
world,  to  a  famous  physician  in  London,  and  a 
groom  was  sent  galloping  to  the  station  to  send  it. 

"  Who  is  this  person  he  always  takes  me  for?" 
asked  the  doctor,  polishing  his  glasses.  "  This  morn 
ing  he  insisted  on  my — on  my  playing  for  him.  I 
have  never  played  anything  except  the  cornet,  when 
I  was  a  young  man.  I — it  very  nearly  upset  me, 
Lady  Brigit.  I  love  Tommy." 

Brigit  flushed.  "  Wanted  you  to  play  the  violin?  " 
she  returned. 

"  Yes.  He  has  not  done  so  until  this  morning  for 
several  days,  but  he  quite  insisted  to-day." 

"  It  must  be — Joyselle.  We — we  know  him  very 
well,  and  Tommy  adores  him." 

As  she  spoke  the  nurse  came  in. 

"  Would  you  mind  coming,  my  lady?  He  is  very 
restless  and  insists  on  trying  to  play.  I  can't  quiet 
him  at  all — — " 

They  went  back  into  the  sick-room  and  found 
Tommy  sitting  up  in  bed,  holding  his  violin  in  the 
position  for  playing,  and  scolding  in  a  sharp  staccato 
voice  because  he  couldn't  find  his  bow. 

"  Tommy,  dear,"  Brigit  said  quietly,  suddenly  see 
ing  her  way  clear,  "  I  am  wiring  the  Master  to  come 


306  THE     HALO 

to  see  you.     He  will  play  for  you.     Now  give  me 
your  violin  and  lie  down  like  a  good  boy." 

Under  the  impression  that  she  was  Mrs.  Cham 
pion,  the  housekeeper,  but  perfectly  satisfied  with 
her  words,  he  gave  up  the  fiddle  obediently  and  lay 
down.  The  doctor  nodded  his  approval  and  left  a 
few  moments  later  to  send  the  telegram  to  Joyselle. 
And  Brigit  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  waited. 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

THE  weather  had  changed  suddenly,  and  although 
it  was  only  the  I4th  of  September,  it  was  cold  and 
cheerless  that  afternoon. 

Brigit,  who  had  been  sent  out  for  a  walk,  tramped 
steadily  down  the  road  towards  the  village,  her 
hands  in  her  jacket  pockets,  her  chin  buried  in  her 
little  boa. 

Tommy  was  very  ill ;  the  London  doctor  had  con 
firmed  old  Dr.  Long's  opinion:  an  over-developed 
mind  in  an  under-developed  body.  These  words  in 
themselves  were  not  very  alarming,  but  Brigit's  heart 
had  sunk  as  Sir  George  uttered  them. 

"  Is  he — is  he  going  to  die?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 
Sir  George  hesitated.  "  We  scientists  are  supposed 
to  be  atheists,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  returned, 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  but  I  believe  in  God.  And 
in  all  reverence  I  can  say  in  this  case  that  only  He 
can  tell.  Lord  Kingsmead  is  very  weak,  and  I 
greatly  dislike  the  abnormal  activity  of  his  brain,  but 
— God  is  good.  So  let  us  hope." 

Then  the  great  man  had  gone. 

By  the  5.10  express  Joyselle  was  coming.  He 
had  been  out  of  town  the  day  before,  and  the  delay 
had  been  maddening.  But  now  he  was  coming,  and 
Brigit  pinned  her  faith  to  the  effects  of  his  presence 
with  savage  fanaticism. 


3o8  THE     HALO 

"  He  must  help  him,"  she  repeated  over  and  over 
again;  "  he  Ipves  him  so." 

The  darkness  of  the  day  was  congenial  to  her; 
sunshine  would  have  seemed  an  insult.  She  reached 
the  village,  with  its  little  straight  street  and  modern 
red-brick  inn,  and  passing  through  it  turned  to  the 
left  towards  the  station.  It  was  only  three,  and 
Joyselle  could  not  arrive  for  two  hours;  yet  she  felt 
that  she  was  going  towards  him. 

A  motor  rushed  past  her,  covering  her  with  dust 
and  causing  her  to  clench  her  hands  in  anger. 
"  Beastly  thing!  "  she  said  aloud. 

Then  out  of  the  cloud  of  dust  emerged — Joyselle, 
on  foot,  his  violin-case  in  his  hand. 

"You!" 

"  Yes.  I — couldn't  wait,  so  I  cut  an  engagement 
and  took  the  1.45,  Brigit — how  is  he?" 

He  was  flushed  with  the  effort  of  rapid  walking  in 
a  long  coat  and  his  hat  was  on  one  side.  He  was 
smoking,  and  forgot  to  ask  her  leave  to  continue. 
Small  things  were  swept  from  his  mind  by  his  evident 
anxiety. 

"  He  is — very  bad.  But — oh,  it  was  good  of  you 
to  bring  your  violin !  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  If  anything  on  earth  can  quiet 
him,  that  will.  What  is  the  trouble  now  that  the 
throat  is  better?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  thinks  and  thinks,  and  can't 
sleep,  and  the  fever  will  not  go.  In  a  grown  person 
I  suppose  they'd  call  it  brain-fever." 

"  Poor  little  boy." 


T  H  E     H  A  L  O  309 

They  had  passed  the  village  and  struck  out  on  the 
straight  road  by  the  park. 

"  I — I  have  missed  you,  Victor,"  she  burst  out 
suddenly,  looking  round  and  laying  her  gloved  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"  Hush !  "  he  answered  in  a  stern  voice. 

A  second  later  he  broke  the  silence  by  asking  her 
if  Tommy  drank  milk. 

"  No,"  she  returned  sullenly,  "  he  hates  it." 

"  That  is  a  pity." 

When  they  reached  the  gate  and  turned  into  the 
avenue  she  found  to  her  surprise  that  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears.  She  had  slept  very  little  for  nights, 
and  her  nerves  were  upset.  She  wanted  a  personal 
word  from  him,  a  look,  but  he  gave  her  none. 

"  Theo  sent  you  his  love,"  he  announced  presently. 
"  He  is  coming  down  to-morrow.  How  is  your 
mother?" 

"  All  right.    Victor — are  you  glad  to  see  me?  " 

She  stood  still  as  she  spoke,  but  he  walked  on, 
and  she  had  to  rejoin  him  as  he  answered  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  voice : 

"  Of  course  I  am,  my  dear  child." 

His  mouth  she  saw  was  set  and  determined.  Feel 
ing  as  though  he  had  struck  her,  she  went  on  in 
silence,  and  the  silence  remained  unbroken  until  they 
had  reached  the  house. 

"  I  may  go  to  him  at  once?  "  Joyselle  asked  her,  as 
Burton  helped  him  take  off  his  coat. 

"  Yes." 

They  went  upstairs  together,  and  outside  the  door 


310  THE     HALO 

of  the  boudoir  he  paused  and  took  the  violin  out  of 
its  case. 

Tommy,  who  was  talking  very  loud  about  Alexan 
der  the  Great,  stared  at  him  without  recognition. 

"  A116,  Tommy;  here  I  am,"  Joyselle  began,  tak 
ing  the  boy's  hand.  "  Come  to  scold  you  for  being 
ill  and  worrying  us  all." 

"  I  don't  want  you — not  that  it  isn't  very  kind  of 
you  to  come.  I  want — him.  And  he  won't  come." 

Joyselle  frowned  at  Brigit,  who  was  about  to 
speak.  "  Well — I  am  going  to  play  for  you,  and  it 
may  amuse  you  till  he  does  come." 

He  tuned  his  violin  and  began  to  play. 

Brigit  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  laid  her  hand  in 
Tommy's. 

It  was  a  simple  nursery  melody  that  Joyselle 
played : 

"  II  etalt  une  bergere,  he  ron  ron  ron,  petit  pa-ta- 

pon "     She  had  known  it  all  her  life,  but  to 

Tommy,  who  had  always  sternly  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  French  governesses  his 
mother  had  got  for  him,  it  was  new. 

He  listened  with  an  intent  frown,  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  curled  inwards  and  moving  as  though  he 
were  trying  to  follow  the  air  on  imaginary  strings. 

Then  as  Joyselle  went  on  to  the  delightful  Pont 
d' Avignon,  his  hand  relaxed,  and  he  closed  his  eyes 
for  a  moment. 

The  room  was  nearly  dark,  and  rain  beat  in  gusts 
on  the  windows. 

"  Fals  dodo,"  sang  the  fiddle  softly,  "  fats  dodo." 


THE     HALO  311 

"  I  like  that.  Play  it  again.  Ah,  Master — it  is 
you.  I  am  so  glad " 

Joyselle  did  not  stop,  but  he  smiled  down  at  the 
boy  as  he  played  on  very  softly.  u  Of  course  it  is  I. 
I  am  delighted  to  see  you  so  much  better.  Do  you 
know  '  Ma  Normandie  '  ?  This  is  it " 

Tommy  moved  a  little  and  settled  his  head  more 
comfortably. 

The  boudoir  was  in  an  angle  of  the  house  opposite 
to  which,  a  floor  higher,  was  the  gallery.  As  he 
played,  someone  in  the  picture-gallery  turned  on  the 
electric  lights,  and  one  long  shaft,  coming  through 
the  window,  shone  down  on  the  player's  head. 

"  See  the  Halo,  Bicky?  "  asked  the  boy  in  a  nat 
ural  voice.  "  Isn't  he  splendid?  "  Then  he  added, 
with  the  frown  she  so  dreaded:  "Take  me  away 
before  they  begin  to  clap,  will  you?" 

"  No  clapping  allowed,  Tommy,"  Joyselle  assured 
him  quietly.  "  Know  this?  " 

And  he  played  on. 

His  face,  full  of  tender  solicitude,  was,  Brigit 
thought,  almost  divinely  beautiful  as  she  watched  it. 
And  by  some  curious  freak  of  the  down-falling  light 
only  his  head  and  shoulders  were  visible,  and  seemed 
almost  to  be  floating  in  the  gloom.  Never  had  he  been 
so  handsome,  and  never  so  pitilessly  remote.  He 
had  forgotten  her;  he  had  forgotten  love;  he  was 
not  even  the  Musician — he  was  a  Healer,  a  being 
miles  above  and  beyond  her  and  her  weak  human 
longing. 

Tommy's  eyes  had  closed,  and  the  low  music  went 


312  THE     HALO 

on  and  on.  The  room  was  now  quite  dark,  save  for 
the  light  that  encircled  Joyselle's  head.  It  was  like 
a  wonderful  picture,  and  the  innate  nobility  of  the 
man  obliterated  for  the  time  all  else  from  his  fine 
face. 

Tommy  was  asleep,  and  still  the  music  went  on. 

" Salut  demeure  chaste  et  pure"  he  was  playing 
now,  and  Brigit  recalled  with  a  great  heart  throb  the 
evening  she  had  met  him  in  the  train.  "Salut  de- 
meure "  The  high  note,  pure  and  thrilling,  lin 
gered  long,  and  then,  as  it  had  come,  the  light  went, 
and  it  was  dark. 

The  music  ceased,  and  there  was  a  long  pause. 
Then,  without  a  word,  Joyselle  left  the  room,  closing 
the  door  softly  behind  him. 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

THE  morning  of  the  fifth  day  after  his  arrival  Joy- 
selle  went  downstairs  early,  and  out  into  the  garden. 

He  looked,  as  he  felt,  very  tired,  for  he  had  been 
with  Tommy  most  of  the  time,  day  and  night,  and 
played  until  even  his  great  strength  was  nearly  ex 
hausted. 

For  Tommy  had  clung  to  his  presence  in  a  very 
piteous  way,  crying  weakly,  since  the  fever  had  gone, 
ever  time  the  Master  left  the  room,  restless  and  un 
able  to  sleep  unless  played  to,  capricious  and  naughty 
about  his  food  unless  the  Master  sat  by  him  while  he 
ate. 

Many  children  are  disquietingly  good  during  seri 
ous  illness,  and  Tommy  had  been  very  patient  while 
at  his  worst;  but  once  on  the  road  to  recovery,  the 
natural  imp  in  him  revived  and  flourished,  making 
the  road  a  hard  one  for  his  fellow-travellers. 

There  had  been  a  phase  when  he  smuggled  his 
food  under  the  bedclothes,  pretending  with  diabolical 
cleverness  to  eat  it;  when  the  milk  left  by  his  side 
was  poured  out  of  the  window  the  moment  he  had 
been  left  alone.  But  Joyselle,  discovering  these 
crimes,  had  taken  to  sitting  by  the  boy  when  his 
meals  were  brought,  and  with  him  Tommy  was  al 
most  painfully  eager  to  be  good. 

The  danger,  Dr.  Long  declared,  was  now  over,. 


314  THE     HALO 

and  within  a  week  the  invalid  was  to  be  moved  to 
Margate. 

In  a  few  hours  Joyselle  was  returning  to  town, 
and  he  was  glad,  for  the  strains,  more  than  one,  to 
which  his  stay  had  subjected  him,  were  telling  on 
his  nerves. 

The  rose-garden,  even  in  mid-September,  was  a 
pleasant  place,  and  as  he  walked  along  its  broad 
grass  paths  the  violinist  wished  it  were  July,  and 
that  the  fine  standard  roses  might  be  in  bloom.  He 
loved  flowers,  and  with  the  curiously  rapid  assimila 
tion  of  superficial  knowledge  common  to  artistic  na 
tures,  had  picked  up  a  considerable  amount  of  rose- 
lore  at  the  house  of  some  friends  in  Devonshire. 

There  was  one  big  yellow  rose  on  a  bush  near  the 
middle  of  the  garden,  and  bending  over  it,  he  buried 
his  nose  in  it. 

"Victor!" 

Brigit  had  joined  him  unheard,  and  stood  looking 
at  him,  her  hand  held  out.  "  Let  me  give  you  that 


rose." 


But  he  shook  his  head.  "  No,  let  it  die  there.  It 
is  so  beautiful  among  the  leaves.  You  are  up  early." 

"  Yes.  I  saw  you  from  the  window,  and  brought 
you  your  letters."  She  handed  him  several  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Thanks." 

"  And — I  want  to  thank  you  for  staying.  It  is 
you,  and  only  you,  who  have  saved  Tommy." 

He  nodded  gravely.  "  I  love  Tommy.  We  must 
not  let  him  overwork  again,  Brigit." 


THE    HALO  315 

"No." 

Joyselle  turned  over  his  letters  without  looking  at 
them.  "  Did  Theo  speak  to  you  the  other  day  about 
— our — that  is  to  say,  his  plan  ?  " 

Her  face  stiffened.    "  No." 

This  was  the  first  time  she  had  succeeded  in  seeing 
Victor  alone  during  all  the  five  days  of  his  stay. 
Unobstrusively  but  effectively  he  had  avoided  her, 
shutting  himself,  when  he  was  not  in  the  sick-room, 
in  his  own  room,  under  the  pretext  of  fatigue  or  cor 
respondence.  And  she  had  not  submitted  to  this 
without  repeated  efforts  to  foil  his  intentions. 

Again  and  again  she  had  made  little  plans  to  catch 
him  alone,  but  she  had  invariably  failed,  and  as  the 
days  passed  and  she  realised  his  strength  of  deter 
mination,  a  dull,  slow  fire  of  anger  had  begun  to 
burn  in  her. 

Theo,  who  had  been  down  twice,  had  found  her 
manner  very  unsatisfactory;  she  was  strikingly  dif 
ferent  from  what  she  had  been  in  Falaise,  and  the 
young  man  was  puzzled  and  hurt.  While  Tommy 
was  still  very  ill  he  had  borne  with  her  change  of 
mood  with  great  patience,  but  the  time  was  coming 
when  he  must  demand  an  explanation.  All  this  she 
felt  and  resented. 

She  looked,  as  she  stood  by  the  rose-bush,  very 
tired,  and  older  than  her  years,  but  she  looked  re 
markably  handsome;  pallor  and  heavy  eyelids  did 
not  disfigure  her  as  they  do  most  women. 

Joyselle  took  out  his  silver  box  and  made  a  ciga 
rette. 


3i6  THE    HALO 

"  He  was  talking  to  me  about  it,"  he  went  on,  dis 
regarding  the  final  quality  of  her  negative.  "  And  I 
find  it  very  good.  It  is  that  Tommy  should  live 
much  with — you — when  you  are  married.  Your 
mother  does  not  know  how  to  bring  him  up;  he  is 
delicate  and  high-strung,  and  Theo  is  very  fond  of 
him." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Theo !  "  she  burst  out, 
exasperated  beyond  endurance. 

He  looked  up.  "Are  you  mad?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

"  No.  But — you  seem  to  be  trying  to  make  me 
mad.  I  can't  understand  you,  Victor." 

"  Can't  you,  Brigit?  I  should  think  it  was  very 
easy.  You  remember  what  we  agreed  at  Falaise? 
That " 

"  That  I  was  to  marry  Theo  and  *  live  happy  ever 
after  '  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  But  do  you  remem 
ber  how  miserable  you  were  the  day  before — and  the 
day  of — the  wedding?  And  why  that  was?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  humbly.  "  I  know.  I  was — 
jealous." 

"  Well — and  you  expect  me  to  be  happy  and  con 
tent  while  you  behave  as  you  are  doing  now?  You 
never  speak  to  me;  you  never  look  at  me;  you  fly 
from  me  as  if  I  were  an  infectious  disease.  It  is — 
unbearable,"  she  ended  passionately.  "  I  can't  bear 


it." 


He  smoked  in  silence  for  some  seconds.    "  I  am — 
sorry  to  have  hurt  you,  Brigit." 


THE    HALO 

"  Sorry  to  have  hurt  me !  'I  don't  believe  you  love 
me.  If  you  were  jealous,  so  am  II  I  will  not  be 
treated  like  this." 

His  white  face  was  like  a  mask.  "  I  am  sorry," 
he  repeated,  with  a  kind  of  dogged  patience. 

"  Then  if  you  are — be  good  to  me.  I  love  you, 
Victor." 

He  met  her  eyes  and  his  did  not  falter  in  their 
steady  gaze.  "  Please  do  not  excite  yourself,"  he 
said  very  gently,  "  and — I  think  I  will  go  in  now. 
It  must  be  breakfast  time." 

Driven  beyond  her  own  control  by  his  tone,  she 
caught  his  arm  and  pleaded  with  him,  her  voice 
harsh  and  broken,  and  she  could  not  stop,  although 
she  saw  that  she  was,  besides  annoying  him,  injuring 
herself  in  his  eyes. 

"  Please— Brigit " 

"  Then  tell  me  that  you  love  me.  You  can't  have 
stopped — it  is  only  a  week  since  the  wedding — I — 
can't  bear  this " 

But  her  mistaken  line  of  conduct  brought  its  inevit 
able  punishment.  "  This  is — absurd,"  he  said  coldly, 
"  and — undignified.  I  told  you  at  Falaise  that  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself  for  being  jealous  of  my  son.  It 
was  monstrous  and  hideous.  I  think  I  have  been  not 
quite  in  my  right  mind  for  some  time.  But  I  have  a 
strong  will  and  can  force  myself  to  anything " 

"  And  you  are  forcing  yourself  to  kill  your  love  for 
me " 

"  No.  I  am  trying  to  learn  to  love  you  as  a — a 
daughter,  and  I  am  beginning  to  succeed.  But  if 


318  THE     HALO 

you  insist  in  making  scenes  like  this "    He  broke 

off  and  gave  his  shoulders  an  expressive  shrug.    "  It 
is — not  womanly." 

Then,  breaking  the  yellow  rose  from  the  bush,  he 
drew  its  stem  through  his  button-hole  and  strolled 
leisurely  away,  whistling  under  his  breath. 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

FOR  two  days  Brigit  Mead  remained  in  her  room, 
refusing  to  see  anyone.  Tommy,  who  had  reached 
the  period  when  convalescents  sleep  most  of  the  time, 
was  told  that  she  was  resting,  and  that  he  must  be 
very  good  and  eat  a  great  deal,  with  a  view  to  sur 
prising  her  by  his  progress  when  she  reappeared. 

But  the  girl  was  not  resting. 

Up  and  down  the  two  rooms  she  paced,  day  and 
night,  her  face  set,  her  hands  clenched,  talking  aloud 
to  herself  sometimes,  sometimes  silent,  always  think 
ing,  thinking,  thinking  of  Joyselle. 

Had  he  ceased  to  love  her,  or  was  it  merely  a  pose, 
or — ten  thousand  theories  occurred  to  her,  to  drive 
her  perilously  near  madness  in  her  solitude.  Things 
he  had  done,  words  he  had  said,  characteristics  she 
had  observed  in  him,  all  these  things  flashed  into  her 
mind,  upsetting  and  confirming  each  and  every  theory 
with  an  utter  lack  of  logic,  but  with  pitiless  conclu- 
siveness. 

And  the  longer  she  thought  the  more  hopeless 
things  grew.  Theo  himself  she  dismissed  with  furi 
ous  impatience;  his  letters  remained  unopened,  an 
affectionate  wire  of  congratulation  on  Tommy's  im 
provement  she  did  not  answer.  He  and  everyone 
else  were  swept  aside  by  the  flood  of  emotional  analy 
sis  regarding  Joyselle  that,  in  its  headlong  course, 
threatened  to  carry  her  reason  with  it. 


J20  THE     HALO 

"  If  I  had  been  married,"  she  thought  over  and 
over  again  with  cruel  shrewdness,  "things — would 
have  been  different,  and  then  he  could  not  have 
escaped." 

She  wrote  to  Joyselle  long  letters  full  of  incoherent 
self-accusations,  and  made  appeals  for  pity,  but  she 
knew  that  he  would  not  answer  her,  and  so  burned 
the  letters. 

She  could  not  eat;  did  not  even  try,  and  the  little 
sleep  she  got  from  sheer  exhaustion,  after  tramping 
up  and  down  for  hours,  was  heavy  and  unrestful. 
Lady  Kingsmead  came  to  her  door  once  or  twice,  but 
was  not  allowed  to  enter,  and  went  away  unprotest- 
ing.  And  then,  the  third  morning,  Dr.  Long  insisted 
on  seeing  her. 

"Humph!  Tired,  are  you?  You  look  it.  Tommy 
is  going  to  Margate  to-morrow.  You  had  better  go 
too." 

"  Is  my  mother  going?  " 

"  No.  Nurse  is  taking  him.  It  will  do  him  good 
— and  you.  Is  anything  specific  the  matter?" 

She  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head.  "  I  am 
tired,"  she  repeated. 

"  Very  well.  I'll  give  you  some  phosphites — and 
you  had  better  go  for  a  walk.  You  need  air." 

The  old  man  bustled  away,  and  Brigit,  after  a  few 
minutes'  reflection,  went  to  her  mother's  room. 

"  I  am  going  to  town,  mother,"  she  began,  with 
out  preamble,  "  and  in  a  day  or  so  I  shall  join  Tommy 
at  Margate.  Dr.  Long  says  I  had  better  go,  but — 
I  have  some  things  to  see  to  first" 


THE    HALO  3*1 

Lady  Kingsmead,  who  was  blackening  her  eye 
brows  before  her  glass,  turned,  one  eye  made  up, 
the  other  very  undressed-looking  in  its  natural  con 
dition. 

"But — you'll  come  back,  Brigit?  You  aren't 
angry  any  more?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know,  mother.  I — am  so  tired,  I 
can't  think." 

Lady  Kingsmead  took  up  a  letter  that  lay  beside 
her  and  handed  it  to  her  daughter.  "  Read  this — 
dear,"  she  said  rather  humbly.  And  Brigit  read: 

"  DEAR  TONY,"  it  ran,  in  a  curious  irregular, 
downward-trending  hand,  "  I've  been  awfully  bad 
again,  or  I  should  have  written  before.  I  was  at  the 
Joyselles'  yesterday,  and  they  told  me  that  the  dan 
ger  is  over.  I  am  so  glad,  poor  old  girl.  How  are 
you?  And  how  is  Brigit?  I  hope  she  will  believe 
you  when  you  tell  her  about  that  day  after  I  saw  her 
in  Tite  Street.  I  told  her  that  you  did  not  believe 
me  and  went  for  me,  but  she  wouldn't  listen  to  me, 
and  I  don't  blame  her.  I'm  pretty  bad.  I  shan't 
last  long,  I  think.  Heart's  getting  bad,  too.  May 
I  come  down  and  see  you  some  time?  Joyselle  tells 
me  the  wedding  is  to  be  next  month " 

Brigit  crushed  the  letter  violently  in  her  hand  and 
threw  it  down,  her  face  distorted  with  anger. 

"  Poor  old  Gerald,"  commented  her  mother  ab 
sently.  After  a  pause  she  turned.  u  Brigit — I  give 
you  my  sacred  word  of  honour  that  I  did  not  believe 


322  THE     HALO 

him  that  day.  I  never  doubted  you  for  a  second. 
But  he  was  so  queer — so  ill — that  I  was  alarmed,  and 
was  trying  to  comfort  him  when  you  came  in. 

"  Do  you  believe  me?"  she  added,  after  a  long 
pause. 

Brigit,  who  stood  by  the  window,  nodded  without 
turning. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  you,"  she  said  indifferently. 

Then,  before  her  mother  could  again  speak,  the 
girl  left  the  room. 

On  her  own  table  she  found  another  letter,  and  to 
her  surprise  recognised  Carron's  writing  in  the  ad 
dress.  With  a  sudden  foreboding  of  evil,  she  sat 
down  and  opened  the  letter. 

It  was  very  long,  written  in  pencil,  and  began: 

"  Before  God,  I  swear  you  wronged  your  mother 
in  thinking  she  believed  what  I  said  about  you  that 
day  in  Pont  Street.  Before  God,  I  give  you  my 
word.  Brigit,  I  am  going  to  die;  I  cannot  live.  I 
don't  like  to  live.  The  world  is  abominable.  I  hate 
everybody.  I  hate  you.  I  hate  God.  The  only  way 
I  can  forget  is  to  take  morphine,  and  it  is  beginning 
to  go  back  on  me.  Sometimes  I  don't  feel  it  at  all. 
And  it  is  only  the  last  of  many  friends  to  desert 


There  were  four  pages  of  this,  growing  more  and 
more  incoherent,  and  then  at  the  last,  the  writer  went 
on,  his  writing  suddenly  larger  and  more  distinct, 
as  if  he  had  taken  pains  to  render  it  legible: 


THE    HALO  323 

"  I  am  going  to  die,  Brigit,  so  good-bye.  If  you 
would  have  married  me  I  should  not  have  done  this. 
It  is  all  your  fault.  "  GERALD  CARRON." 

For  an  instant  her  indignation  at  the  incredible 
cowardice  of  the  man  crushed  every  other  feeling. 
Then  a  thrill  of  horror  came  over  her.  Looking 
again  at  the  last  page  she  saw  below  the  signature: 

"If  you  will  come  to  see  me  at  five  o'clock  to 
morrow,  and  are  kind  to  me,  I  won't  do  it." 

Returning  to  her  mother's  room  the  girl  handed 
her  the  letter.  "  Read  the  last  page,"  she  said 
briefly. 

Lady  Kingsmead  shuddered.  "  We  must  wire 
him.  We'll  tell  him  to  come  down  here — he  must 
be  mad — I — oh,  Brigit!  " 

Brigit  shook  her  head.  "  Of  course  he's  mad. 
But  we  must  go  to  him.  We'll  wire  from  the  sta 
tion." 

Hurrying  her  distracted  mother  to  the  train,  the 
girl  settled  into  a  corner  and  remained  in  unbroken 
silence  until  they  reached  town. 

"  It  is  odious,  disgusting  of  him,"  she  broke  out 
in  the  hansom  as  they  went  up  St.  James  Street. 
"  When  he  is  quieted  down,  mother,  you  must  make 
him  understand  that  I  absolutely  refuse  to  accept 
the  responsibility  of  his  deeds.  I  never  could  bear 
him." 

Lady  Kingsmead  nodded.   "  It  is  the  morphine  he 


324  THE     HALO 

takes.  He  must  go  into  one  of  these  great  cure 
places — or  no,  that  is  for  drinking,  I  believe " 

They  had  reached  the  house  and  gone  up  the 
stairs  before  she  spoke  again.  "  I  hope  he  won't  be 
violent,"  she  declared,  "  I  wish  you  hadn't  insisted 
on  coming.  A  wire  would  have  done  every  bit  as 
well " 

No  one  answering  the  ring,  Brigit  tried  the  door 
on  which  a  card  bearing  Carron's  name  was  neatly 
tacked. 

To  her  surprise  the  door  was  open,  and  crossing 
the  little  ante-chamber  the  two  women  went  into  the 
sitting-room. 

Lying  on  his  face  by  the  fireplace,  in  which  red 
ashes  still  glowed,  Gerald  Carron  lay  dead,  a  revolver 
near  him,  his  face  in  a  small  pool  of  blood. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


LADY  KINGSMEAD  fainted  dead  away  for  once 
in  her  life,  dropping  in  a  huddled  heap  near  the  man 
she  had  loved  and  unloved. 

Brigit  stared  at  them  for  a  moment,  wondering 
vaguely  which  of  them  was  dead,  which  only  faint 
ing.  Then,  just  as  she  was  kneeling  to  raise  her 
mother  to  a  better  position,  the  door  opened  and  two 
men,  one  of  them  Giacomo,  Carron's  valet,  entered 
in  great  haste. 

The  second  man  was,  he  explained,  a  doctor,  whom 
the  valet  had  gone  for  on  finding  his  master's  body. 

The  next  few  minutes  were  minutes  that  Brigit 
never  forgot.  The  Italian  servant,  chattering  and 
weeping,  the  young  doctor  helping  her  to  loosen  Lady 
Kingsmead's  tight  clothes;  his  hurried  explanations 
and  questions;  the  very  closeness  of  the  air,  with  the 
smell  of  gunpowder  still  faintly  perceptible. 

Lady  Kingsmead,  laid  upon  Carron's  bed,  came  to 
in  a  few  minutes  in  violent  hysterics,  and  the  young 
doctor,  when  he  had  given  her  a  soothing  draught, 
insisted  on  the  two  women  leaving. 

"  I  must  send  for  the  coroner,"  he  explained,  "  and 
it  will  be  unpleasant.  Your  cab  is  still  at  the  door,  I 
think  ?  May  I  have  your  address  ?  " 

He  was  very  civil  and  sympathetic,  this  young 
medico,  but  he  was  also  rather  too  obviously  im- 


326  THE     HALO 

pressed  by  his  own  importance  and  this  gruesome 
occasion.  Brigit  gave  him  the  address  of  her  flat, 
and  helping  her  mother  into  a  four-wheeler,  as  more 
suitable  than  a  hansom,  the  two  women  drove  away 
towards  Kensington. 

"I  hadn't  been  in  his  room  for  years,"  sobbed 
Lady  Kingsmead,  forgetting  her  complexion.  "  Did 
you  see  the  pastel  of  me  on  the  wall  between  the 
windows?  And  I  gave  him  the  clock,  too,  for  his 
thirty-fifth  birthday.  Oh,  Brigit!  He  loved  me  in 
sanely,  poor  Gerald,  perfectly  madly,  and  so  did  I." 
She  broke  off,  to  her  daughter's  relief,  and  sobbed 
again. 

Brigit's  flat  was  warm  and  smelt  unaired.  Two  or 
three  letters  lay  on  the  mat  inside  the  door,  a  huge 
blue-bottle  boomed  at  a  window  trying  to  get  out. 

Lady  Kingsmead  lay  down  on  Maidie  Compton's 
Chesterfield  and  wept  loudly.  "  Oh,  Gerald,  Gerald, 
how  we  loved  each  other,"  she  wailed.  "  He  would 
have  died  for  me.  He  very  nearly  killed  him 
self " 

Suddenly  the  foolish  woman  sat  up  and  pointed 
an  accusing  finger  at  her  daughter.  "  And  it  is  all 
your  fault,"  she  cried  bitterly;  "he  said  so  in  that 
letter — my  poor  love.  Your  fault,  and  you  my 
daughter.  You  broke  his  heart,  you  tortured  him, 
and  you  took  him  from  me.  I — I  hate  you." 

Brigit  stared  coldly  at  her.  "  Don't  make  a  fool 
of  yourself,  mother,"  she  said.  "  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  what  you 
say." 


THE    HALO  327 

"  There  is,  there  is !  It  was  when  you  began  to 
grow  up  that  he  ceased  loving  me.  It  is  all  your 
fault.  He  wrote  it  to  you.  You  are  to  blame;  you 
murdered  him,  his  blood  is  on  your  head!  And  I 
scolded  him  when  he  told  me  about  you  and  Joyselle. 
I  refused  to  believe  him.  Oh,  Gerald,  Gerald !  " 

How  much  she  believed  of  what  she  said  it  is  im 
possible  to  say,  but  her  lack  of  self-control  and  her 
immense  egotism  were  such  that  together  they  made 
a  formidable  force  to  argue  against. 

Brigit  sneered  as  she  looked  down  at  her.  "  For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  so  ridiculous,"  she  said  im 
patiently.  "  And  don't — lie." 

"  I  am  not  lying.  He  told  me  about  you  and 
Joyselle,  and  I  believe  him.  Yes  I  do,  I  believe  him. 
You  are  in  love  with  the  man,  and  that's  why  you 
don't  marry  his  son " 

"  Look  here,  mother,"  Brigit's  temper  was  rising 
fast.  "Answer  one  question  quietly,  will  you?  Do 
you  believe  what  Gerald  Carron  told  you  about  me 
and  Joyselle?" 

And  Lady  Kingsmead,  whose  hysterical  excite 
ment  was  now  well  beyond  control,  screamed  out 
that  she  did  believe  it. 

Brigit  rose.  "  Very  well.  Think  as  you  like.  And 
— good-bye." 

She  left  the  house  without  a  word,  and  taking  a 
hansom  went  straight  to  Golden  Square. 

Felicite,  who  was  alone,  kissed  her  kindly  and  in 
sisted  on  giving  her  tea.  This,  however,  Brigit  re 
fused.  Desperate  as  she  was,  she  had  come  to  the 


328  THE    HALO 

point  of  feeling  that  she  could  never  again  accept  the 
little  woman's  hospitality.  What  she  was  going  to 
do  she  did  not  know,  but  she  was  not  going  to  marry 
Theo,  and  she  would  never  again  come  to  Golden 
Square. 

"  No,  thanks,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  want  to  see  your 
husband,  so  as  you  think  he  is  there,  I  will  rush  up  to 
Chelsea.  You  look  tired — petite  mere" 

Felicite  smiled.  "  I  am.  I  have  been  turning  out 
our  room  and  re-hanging  all  the  pictures.  But  I  like 
doing  it.  How  is  dear  Tommy  ?" 

"  Much  better,  thanks.  He  is  going  to  Margate 
to-morrow — to  the  sea,  you  know." 

Felicite  went  downstairs  with  her  and  kissed  her 
again  at  parting.  "  Theo  will  be  very  glad  you  are 
in  town,"  she  said.  "  And  you,  my  daughter — do 
things  go  better  with  you?  " 

Touched  by  the  kind  light  in  her  innocent  eyes, 
Brigit  lied.  "  Ah,  yes,  much  better,  thank  you,"  she 
returned;  "  everything  is  all  right." 

And  when  she  was  in  her  hansom  hurrying  Chel- 
seawards,  she  felt  with  a  sigh  that  it  was  a  harmless 
lie. 

"  She  is  a  dear,  poor  Felicite,  and  when  Victor  has 
told  her  that  I  will  not  marry  Theo,  and  I  have  gone 
away — she  will  be  less  troubled." 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

AS  she  went  up  the  stairs  in  the  house  in  Tite  Street, 
Brigit  recalled  the  occasion  of  her  other  visit  there 
and  shuddered.  Poor  Carron.  Could  it  have  been 
partly  her  fault  ? 

And  that  was  her  only  tribute  to  his  memory. 
Essentially  selfish  though  the  girl  was,  she  was  no 
hypocrite,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  now  to  make 
excuses  for  the  man  simply  because  he  was  dead. 

But  it  had  been  just  here  at  the  turning  of  the  dusty 
stairs  that  he  had  waylaid  her  on  her  way  down  after 
her  first  love  scene  with  Joyselle,  and  she  could  not 
pass  without  recalling  it. 

Then  she  had  been  gloriously  happy,  feeling,  be 
cause  she  and  Victor  loved  each  other,  that  the  world 
was  theirs;  now  she  came  a  broken-willed,  frightened 
woman,  to  plead  with  the  man  who  had  put  her  out  of 
his  life,  to  take  her  back.  She  would  tell  him  that  no 
matter  what  happened,  she  would  never  marry  Theo, 
and — then,  when  he  realised  that  she  meant  this,  she 
would  beg  him  to  take  her  back. 

And  remembering  the  last  days  she  trembled. 

She  knocked  at  his  door,  and  a  short,  familiar  bark 
answered  the  sound.  Papillon.  But-ter-fly. 

Joyselle  opened  the  door,  which  had  been  locked, 
and  when  he  saw  her,  his  face,  already  sombre,  dark 
ened  ominously. 


330  T  H  E     H  A  L  O 

"  Brigitte — what  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  not 
offering  to  let  her  in.  Behind  him,  on  a  table,  she  saw 
his  violin-case — unopened,  and  her  heart  gave  a  glad 
hope.  He  had  not  been  working.  He  had  been,  she 
hoped,  unable  to  work. 

"  May  I  come  in,  Victor?  "  she  asked. 

Still  he  did  not  move.  "  Why?  "  he  asked  uncom 
promisingly. 

"  Because  I  have  things  to  tell  you.  Don't  be 
afraid.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  scene " 

He  drew  aside,  and  she  went  in  and  closed  the 
door.  Papillon  sprang  at  her  with  delight,  and  she 
laughed  sadly. 

"He  is  glad  to  see  me,"  she  said;  "aren't  you, 
Yellow  Dog?" 

Joyselle  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sitting  down 
on  the  sofa  lit  a  cigarette.  "  Well?  "  he  asked  after 
a  pause. 

Brigit  sat  down  by  him  and  took  off  her  gloves. 

"Victor — why  have  things — been  as  they  have 
been  of  late?" 

"  You  know  why." 

"  Because  the  father  in  you  is  stronger  than  the 
lover?" 

"  I  have  never  been  your  lover,"  he  retorted 
harshly,  hurling  the  words  at  her  as  if  they  had  been 
an  accusation. 

She  winced.  "  I  am  speaking  English.  Well — 
was  it  your  loyalty  to  Theo  that — that  changed 


you?" 


I  have  been  loyal,  have  I  not?     Juste  del! 


THE    HALO  331 

Rising,  he  walked  about  the  great  room,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him.  "  My  conduct  was  magnificent, 
was  it  not?  Don't  quibble  with  words,  Brigit.  In 
plain  language,  I  was  a  scoundrel,  a  beast,  and  now  I 
am  trying  to  behave — not  like  a  gentleman,  but  like 
a  decent  man.  And  why  you  won't  let  me,  I  don't 
know." 

He  was  suffering,  she  saw  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Then  you  still  love  me?  "  she  asked  coolly. 

"  Yes.  Does  a  man  change  in  a  week?  You  are  a 
child.  Now  tell  me  what  you  have  come  for — if  you 
have  any  object  other  than  your  usual  one  of  seeing 
how  much  I  can  endure,  and  then — go.  I  am  strong, 
and  you  cannot  make  me  change  my  mind,  and  I — 
I  despise  you  for  trying  to  make  of  me — the — thing 
I  was  at  one  time.  But  I  am  not  made  of  stone,  and 
you  hurt  me — almost  too  much." 

His  voice  was  very  even  and  low-pitched,  but  she 
shrank  back  in  her  corner  and  hastened  to  answer. 

"  You  wrong  me.  I  have  not  come  to  tempt  you. 
I  have  come — to  tell  you  that  nothing  in  the  world 
nor  out  of  it  can  induce  me  to  marry  Theo." 

"  You  will  not " 

"  No,  I  will  not  marry  him." 

Papillon,  who  had  unearthed  a  long-cherished  bone 
in  a  dark  corner  under  a  Dutch  cabinet,  dragged 
his  treasure  across  the  floor  and  laid  it  at  his  master's 
feet  with  a  pleased  growl. 

"  You  will  not  marry  Theo?  " 

"  No." 

She  had  risen,  and  the  two  faced  each  other  defi- 


33*  THE    HALO 

antly,  while  the  little  dog  between  them  wagged  his 
tail  with  joy. 

"Why?"  asked  Joyselle   sharply. 

"  Because — I  cannot.  I  have  dawdled  and  dallied, 
and  refused  to  face  things  long  enough.  Now  I  see 
that  the  worst  crime  I  could  commit  against  him 
would  be  to  marry  him.  I  love  you.  Whether  you 
love  me  or  not,  I  love  you,  and  I  always  shall.  And 
I  ask  you  as  a  great  favour  to  tell  Theo  for  me  that 
I  cannot  marry  him." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

His  voice  trembled  and  he  spoke  very  slowly. 

"  I  am — going  away.  I  don't  know  where.  To 
Italy,  probably,  with  the  Lenskys.  And  I  shall,  I 
daresay,  marry  in  the  course  of  time." 

"  Whom  are  you  going  to  marry?  "  he  cried  furi 
ously,  forgetting  that  she  had  just  said  that  she  loved 
him,  and  mad  with  jealousy. 

She  laughed.  "  Qui  salt?  I  don't.  Possibly  Lord 
Pontefract — he  has  just  come  back  from  the  Andes — 
possibly  someone  whom — you  do  not  know." 

"  Then,"  returned  Joyselle  very  quietly,  "  I  will 
kill  him." 

And  she  could  have  laughed  aloud. 

"  You  will  tell  Theo?  "  she  asked,  picking  up  her 
gloves. 

"  No,  I  will  not.  I  cannot.  And  you  shall  not  go. 
Or,  yes — Brigit — you  shall  go — with  me.  If  you  will 
not  marry  him,  then  there  is  nothing  between  us.  I 
have  fought,  I  have  done  my  best,  but  I  can  bear  no 
more.  We  will  go,  you  and  I " 


THE     HALO  333 

Catching  her  in  his  arms  he  held  her  close,  whisper 
ing  incoherent,  broken  words  in  her  ear,  while  the 
little  yellow  dog,  thinking  it  was  a  game,  snapped 
playfully  at  her  trailing  skirts. 

'  You  will  go  with  me,  my  woman?  You  and  I 
alone,  all  alone?  For  ever  and  ever  and  ever?  " 

And  putting  her  arms  round  his  neck  she  answered, 
"  Yes,  I  will  go  with  you.  For  ever." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

BRIGIT  MEAD  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all  that  night. 
All  night  she  worked  in  her  little  flat  making  her 
plans,  packing,  and  writing  letters. 

She  had  burnt  her  boats  and  the  relief  was  great. 
Having  broken  with  her  mother,  there  was  no  need 
for  her  to  write  to  Kingsmead.  To  Tommy  she  sent 
a  note,  saying  that  she  was  going  away,  but  would 
write  soon  and  explain. 

To  Pam  Lensky  she  wrote  a  rather  long  letter,  for 
there  were  some  few  things  she  wanted  made  clear. 

"  DEAR  PAM," — she  began  abruptly — "  I  am  go 
ing  away  with  Victor  Joyselle.  I  wonder  if  you  will 
blame  me?  In  case  you  do,  here  is  my  only  defence. 
I  hate  my  present  life,  I  am  miserable  without  Joy 
selle,  and  he  is  miserable  without  me.  My  mother, 
with  whom  I  have  been  on  fairly  decent  terms  since 
Tommy  has  been  ill,  is  hopeless.  Gerald  Carron  shot 
himself  to-day,  and  mother,  just,  I  honestly  believe, 
to  indulge  her  own  taste  for  sentimental  scenes, 
turned  on  me  about  him  and  pretended  to  believe  a 
story  he  told  her  just  before  I  left  Pont  Street — that 
I  was  Joyselle's  mistress,  in  fact.  If  she  believed 
the  story  I  would  forgive  her,  though  it  is  not  true, 
but  I  cannot  forgive  the  kind  of  mind  that  can  amuse 
itself  with  such  vulgar  melodrama.  I  have  always 


THE     HALO  335 

disliked  my  mother,  and  now  I  simply  cannot  bear 
her  any  longer. 

"And  I  have  no  other  ties  except  Tommy. 
Tommy,  to  whom  I  shall  write  before  long,  is  nearly 
well.  He  will  be  forbidden  to  come  to  see  me,  but  he 
will  come,  and  I  do  not  think  it  will  hurt  him. 

"  As  to  Theo,  Pam,  I  am  deeply  grieved.  He  is  a 
remarkably  nice  young  man,  but  I  cannot  marry  him, 
and  the  mere  fact  of  his  father's  loving  me  will  not 
much  hurt  him.  Whatever  his  father  does,  Theo 
in  the  long  run  thinks  right,  and  he,  too,  will  for 
give  us. 

"  Then  there  is  poor  Felicite.  She  has  been  very 
kind  to  me,  but  she  has  been  stupid  and  over-self- 
confident,  and  I  cannot  consider  her.  I  must  consider 
him.  She  will  suffer  and  I  am  indeed  sorry,  poor 
soul,  but  he — he  shall  be  happy.  So  good-bye,  Pam. 
Remember  your  own  father  and  mother,  and  under 
stand.  We  go  to  Paris  by  the  eleven  o'clock  train 
to-morrow,  and  thence — to  Arcadia,  as  your  people 
used  to  say.  My  love  to  you.  "  BRIGIT." 

Re-reading  this  letter,  which  she  was  far  too  self- 
engrossed  to  consider  selfish,  Brigit  addressed  it. 

Then  she  looked  over  her  clothes,  packed  them  in 
three  boxes,  one  of  which  she  labelled,  u  To  be  called 
for,"  the  other  two  of  which  were  to  go  with  her. 

It  was  long  after  one  when  she  had  finished  her 
work  and  sat  down  to  rest.  She  was  not  tired,  nor 
did  she  feel  any  special  excitement.  It  had  happened, 
that  was  all,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  always 


336        .  THE     HALO 

foreseen  this  night,  with  its  letter  writing  and  pack 
ing. 

To-morrow  at  this  time  they,  she  and  Victor, 
would  be  in  Paris.  And  then  they  would  go — where- 
ever  he  chose.  She  did  not  care. 

And,  although  she  did  not  know  it,  this  unformu- 
lated  mental  attitude  was  the  first  sign  in  her  of  any 
approach  to  an  unselfish  love. 

Through  the  long  hours  she  sat  in  her  brilliantly 
lighted  little  sitting-room,  waiting  for  day.  At  five 
o'clock  she  switched  off  the  electricity  and  opened 
the  blinds.  A  wan  light  came  in. 

"  It  is  day.  It  is  to-day"  she  told  herself  aloud, 
her  beautiful  mouth  quivering  with  happiness.  "  In 
four  hours  he  will  come." 

She  made  herself  a  cup  of  tea  and  then  lay  down 
on  the  sofa  where  her  mother  had  lain  the  day  before, 
and  went  to  sleep. 

She  dreamed  that  she  stood  in  a  sloping,  very 
green  meadow;  in  the  distance  a  flock  of  dingy  sheep 
browsed,  and  some  invisible  person  was  playing  a 
pipe !  "  //  etalt  une  bergere  he  rony  ron,  ron" — it 
was  the  nursery  song  Joyselle  had  played  to  Tommy 
when  the  little  boy  was  ill.  She  smiled  and  moved 
her  head. 

Then  suddenly  she  was  awake,  and  Theo  stood 
before  her.  "  Brigit,"  he  said  quietly,  "  my  mother 
is  dead.  Will  you  come  to  father?  " 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 

FELICITE  had  died  in  her  sleep  beside  her  hus 
band.  An  hour  before  he  had  waked,  and,  lying 
quietly  by  her,  thinking  no  doubt  of  the  woman  for 
whom  he  was  going  to  desert  her,  he  had  by  chance 
touched  her  hand  as  it  lay  on  the  counterpane,  with 
the  shabby  black  rosary  in  it,  and — the  hand  was 
cold. 

They  had  not  called  a  doctor,  for  there  was  no 
doubt  that  she  was  dead,  and  she  had  hated  doctors. 
She  had  been  very  happy  the  day  before,  and  in  the 
evening  she  had  asked  Joyselle  to  play  to  her,  a  thing 
she  very  rarely  did.  He  had  played,  they  had  drunk 
some  Norman  cider,  and  gone  to  bed  early. 

"  Father  was  tired,"  Theo  added,  as  the  hansom 
stopped. 

Brigit  dared  not  speak.  Could  it  be  that  Joyselle 
had  told  her,  after  they  had  gone  to  their  room? 
He  would  have  had  to  tell  her  either  then  or  the 
next  day — to-day.  He  had  not  feared  to  tell  her,  for 
his  delirium  was  such  that  he  feared  nothing,  and 
besides,  she  was  always  very  gentle. 

"  She  will  understand,"  he  had  told  Brigit,  "  that 
I  cannot  help  it." 

Had  he  told  her?  Had  the  last  beats  of  that 
gentle  heart  been  unhappy  ones,  or  had  the  Madonna, 
to  whom  she  prayed  with  such  simple  confidence, 


338  THE     HALO 

spared  her  that  supreme  shock,  and  allowed  her  to 
die  happy,  with  her  man  beside  her? 

"  Father  has  not  spoken  since — since  the  first," 
Theo  whispered  as  they  crept  up  the  stairs.  "  I — he 
rather  frightens  me." 

The  door  of  Felicite's  room  was  closed,  and  for 
several  seconds  Brigit  dared  not  open  it.  Then, 
very  softly,  she  turned  the  handle,  and  motioning 
Theo  not  to  follow  her,  went  in. 

On  the  bed,  the  counterpane  drawn  smoothly  over 
it,  the  little  figure,  with  the  rosary  still  between  its 
fingers;  and  kneeling  by  the  pillow,  his  silvery  hair 
flowing  forward,  Joyselle. 

He  started  on  hearing  the  door  open,  and  after  a 
pause,  rose. 

"  She  is  dead,"  he  said  slowly.  "  My  wife  is 
dead." 

Brigit  caught  at  a  chair  as  she  saw  his  face,  for  it 
was  the  face  of  an  old  man,  blanched  and  wrinkled 
and  hollow-eyed. 

"  My  wife  is  dead,"  he  repeated. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  table,  and  seeing  her  shabby 
old  red-lined  work-basket,  took  it  up  and  held  it  to 
his  breast. 

As  he  stood,  his  back  to  her,  as  to  one  who  did 
not  belong  there,  who  was  an  intruder,  he  began  to 
cry,  great  slow  tears  dropping  into  the  basket,  wetting 
the  red  lining,  and,  no  doubt,  rusting  the  very  needle 
she  had  used  yesterday. 

Brigit  saw  his  face  in  the  glass. 

"  Oh,  Victor,"  she  faltered,  her  hands  clasped. 


THE    HALO  339 

He  turned  and  pointed  to  the  bed. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  he  said,  with  an  evident 
effort  to  be  polite,  "  but  I  cannot  talk.  My  wife  is 
dead." 

And  the  girl  turned  and  crept  from  the  room. 
She  understood.  And  she  left  him  as  he  wished, 
alone  with  his  wife,  who  was  dead. 

Going  quietly  downstairs,  she  went  to  the  nearest 
flower  shop  and  bought  a  great  mass  of  the  yellow- 
crumple-leaved  roses  that  Joyselle  had  once  told 
her  grew  in  Normandy. 

Then  she  went  back  to  Golden  Square. 

"  He  will  not  leave  her,  Brigitte,"  Theo  told  her 
as  he  met  her  on  the  stairs,  "  and  the  doctor  is 
troubled  about  him.  He  says — the  shock  has  been 
almost  too  great  for — for  his  mind.  I — I  knew  he 
loved  her — oh,  petite  mere  cherie — but  I  never  knew 
how  much.  Ah,  my  dear,  they  had  grown  together 
in  the  twenty-six  years  they  were  man  and  wife,  and 

now  she  has  left  him "  The  young  man  put  his 

arm  on  the  balustrade  and  wept  quite  simply  and  un 
restrainedly. 

Joyselle,  who  was  sitting  by  his  wife,  looked  up 
when  Brigit  entered  with  the  roses,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  I  have  brought  these — for  her — Beau-papa," 
the  girl  faltered,  and  he  rose. 

"  Thank  you.    Yes,  she  loved  roses — ma  Felicite." 

Brigit  noticed,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  remember 
ing  what  the  doctor  had  said,  that  he  spoke  not  quite 
distinctly;  his  tongue  was  a  little  thick. 


340  THE    HALO 

"  Let  us,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoul 
der,  "  thank  God  that  she  died  so  happily,  with  you 
by  her  side." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  where  the 
halo  of  hair  lay  so  untidy. 

"  Yes.  Let  us  thank  God.  You  see,  ma  file — I 
have  not  been  a  good  man.  I  have  loved  many 
women — or  thought  I  did.  I  have  betrayed  her  love 
for  me;  I  have — enfin,  I  have  not  been  good.  But 
— it  all  meant  nothing.  She  was  the  bride  of  my 
youth,  the  companion  of  my — of  my  young  man 
hood."  He  stammered  again,  and  went  on  with  the 
slight  difficulty  she  had  noticed  before,  "  and — I 
know  now  that  after  all,  and  in  spite  of  all,  I  have 
loved  only  her.  Felicite,  ma  vieille,  tu  m'entends?  " 

He  laid  the  roses  on  the  pillow  near  her  little 
peaceful  face,  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  My  wife  is — dead,"  he  added.. 


THE  END. 


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